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COPaucuT Dcposm 




The Rivals 



The Rivals 

By 

Richard Brinsley Sheridan 

With an Introdudlion by 
Brander Matthews 

and Illustrations by 
M. Power O'Malley 




New York 

Thomas Y. Crowell & Co. 

Publishers 



COPYRIGHT, 1884, BY JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO. 
COPYRIGHT, 1904, AND 1907, BY THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO. 



LIBRARY Of CONGRFSS f 
Two OoQifcs 8«3ceived ' 
JUL 2j 90r I 

Ol.iSS f\ XXc, Not ■ 

^_^^_ _ COPY ^- S 



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COMPOSITION AND ELECTROTYPE PLATES BY 
D. B. UPDIKE, THE MERRYMOUNT PRESS, BOSTON 



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Contents 

Introduction ix 

Author's Preface xxxiii 

Prologue {Spoken by Mr, Woodward and 

Mr. Quick) ^ 3 

Prologue {Spoken by Mrs. Bulkley) 5 

Act I 7 

Act II 25 

Act III 49 

Act IV 73 

Act V 95 

Epilogue {Spoken by Mrs. Bulkley) 121 

Notes ^^5 



List of Illustrations 

What can the girl mean ?'^ (p. 82) Frontispiece 



PAGE 



'-'■Well, child^ what have you brought me?^^ 12 - 

"Fy, Sir Anthony! you surely speak laconically^^ 19 

" Tour being a simpleton shall be no excuse for your lo- 
cality''' 22 y 

" My hair has been in training some time'^ 35 v^ 

" What, sir, promise to link myself to some mass of ugli- 
ness!^' 40 '• 

" Take a kiss beforehand to put you in mind " 45 

'■'■ He is the very pine -apple of politeness !^^ 59 

*^Mey sir — me! he means me!** 60 ' 

'■'■Come along — come along'' 66 

''■Mine are true-born English legs'* 68 

" / shall expert the honour of your company*' 71 

" Our ancestors are the last people I should choose to have 

a visiting acquaintance with " 74 

'■'■In beauty, that copy is not equal to you" 86 

" How often have I stole forth, in the coldest night in 

January" 10 1 

* * Tou unmannerly puppy !** 106 

*' How would you receive the gentleman* s shot?** 108 

*'What, Jack! — my dear Jack!** 112 . 



Introdudion 

IN the days now departed, and perhaps 
for ever, when every town in this broad 
land had its theatre, with its own stock- 
company of adors and adresses, the manager 
was wont once and away to announce, with 
more or less flourish of trumpets, and as though 
he were doing a most meritorious thing, a se- 
ries of old-comedy revivals. Whenever the an- 
nouncement was put forth, the regular play- 
goer retired within himself, and made ready for 
an intelledual treat. If you asked the regular 
playgoer for a list of the Old Comedies, it was 
odds that he rattled oflF, glibly enough, first, the 
School for Scandal, second. She Stoops to Conquer, 
and third, the Rivals. After these he might hes- 
itate, but if you pushed him to the wall, he would 
name a few more plays, of which A New Way to 
Fay Old Debts was the oldest and Money the 
youngest. Leaving the regular playgoer, and in- 
vestigating for yourself, you will find that the 
Old Comedies are mostly those which, in spite 
of their being more than a hundred years old, 

[ ix ] 



Introdudion 

are yet lively and sprightly enough to amuse a 
modern audience. 

The life of a drama, even of a successful 
drama, is rarely three-score years and ten ; and 
the number of dramas which live to be cente- 
narians is small indeed. In the last century the 
case was different ; and a hundred years ago the 
regular playgoer had a chance to see frequently 
eight or ten pieces by Massinger, Ben Jonson, 
Beaumont and Fletcher, and Shirley. Nowa- 
days, Shakspere's are the only Elizabethan plays 
which keep the stage, with one solitary excep- 
tion, — Massinger's A New Way to Fay Old 
Debts, The Chances^ of Beaumont and Fletcher; 
the City Madam, of Massinger; and Every Man 
in his Humour, of Ben Jonson, — these have all, 
one after another, dropped out of sight. The 
comedies of the eighteenth century have now in 
their turn become centenarians; of these there 
are half a score which have a precarious hold 
on the theatre, and are seen at lengthening in- 
tervals ; and there are half a dozen which hold 
their own firmly. Of this scant half-dozen, the 
School for Scandal is, perhaps, in the greatest re- 

[X ] 



Introdu6lion 

quest, followed closely by She Stoops to Conquer 
and the Rivals, 

The Rivals was Sheridan's first play; it was*^ 
produced at Covent Garden, January 17, 1775^ 
Like the first plays of many another dramatist 
who has afterward succeeded abundantly, it failed 
dismally on its first performance, and again on 
the second, the night after. It was immediately 
withdrawn; in all probability, it was somewhat 
rewritten; and of a certainty it was very much 
shortened. Then, on January 28, after a ten days* 
absence from the bills, it reappeared, with Mr. 
Clinch in the place of Mr. Lee, as Sir Lucius 
O'Trigger. 

Moore remarks that as comedy, more than 
any other species of composition, requires "that 
knowledge of human nature and the world which 
experience alone can give, — it seems not a little 
extraordinary that nearly all our first-rate come- 
dies should have been the produ6lions of very 
young men." Moore then cites Farquhar, and 
Vanbrugh, and especially Congreve, all of whose 
comedies were written before he was twenty-five. 
It is these three writers who gave the stamp to 
[xi] 



Introdudion 

English comedy ; and Sheridan's die was not un- 
like theirs. Now, a consideration of the fa6t that 
English comedy is thus, in a measure, the work 
of young men, may tend to explain at once its 
failings and its force. As Lessing says: "Who 
has nothing can give nothing. A young man, just 
entering upon the world himself, cannot possibly 
know and depid the world." And that is just the 
weak point of English comedy ; it is brilliant and 
full of dash, and it carries itself bravely, but it 
does not show an exad: knowledge of the world, 
and it does not depid with precision. " The great- 
est comic genius,'* Lessing adds, "shows itself 
empty and hollow in its youthful works." Empty 
and hollow are harsh words to apply to English 
comedy; but it is easy to deted, behind all its 
glitter and sparkle, a want of depth, a superfi- 
ciality, which is not far from the emptiness and 
hollowness of which Lessing speaks. Compare 
this English comedy of Congreve and of Sheri- 
dan, which is a battle of the wits, with the broader 
and more human comedy of Moliere and of Shak- 
spere, and it is easy to see what Lessing means. 
In place of a liberal humanity is an exuberance 
[xii] 



Introduftion 

of youthful fancy and wit, delighting in its exer- 
cise. What gives value to these early plays, and 
especially to Sheridan's, is the touch of the true 
dramatist to be seen in them; and the dramatist is 
like the poet in so far that he is born, not made. 
"A dramatic author," says the younger Alex- 
andre Dumas, "as he advances in life, can acquire 
higher thoughts, can develop a higher philoso- 
phy, can conceive and execute works of stronger 
tissue, than when he began; in a word, the mat- 
ter he can cast into his mould will be nobler and 
richer, but the mould will be the same." Dumas 
proceeded to show how the first plays of Cor- 
neille, of Moliere, and of Racine, from a tech- 
nical point of view, are as well constructed as the 
latest. So it is with Congreve, and Vanbrugh, and 
Farquhar, and Sheridan ; they gave up the stage 
before they had great experience of the world; 
but they were born dramatists. All their come- 
dies were made in the head, not in the heart. But 
made where or how you please, they are well 
made. It is impossible to deny that the Rivals^ 
however hollow or empty it may appear on mi- 
nute critical inspection, is a very extraordinary 
[ xiii ] 



Introdudion 

produdlion for a young man of twenty-three. 

Humour ripens slowly, but in the case of Sheri- 
dan some forcing-house of circumstance seems to 
have brought it to an early maturity, not so rich, 
perhapSjOr so mellow as it might have become with 
time, and yet full of a flavour of its own. Strangely 
enough, the early Rivals is more humorous and 
less witty than the later School for Scandal, — per- 
haps because the humour of the Rivals is rather 
the frank feeling for fun and appreciation of the 
incongruous (both of which may be youthful qual- 
ities) than the deeper and broader humour which 
we see at its full in Moliere and Shakspere. 

So we have the bold outlines of Mrs. Mala- 
prop and Bob Acres, personages having only a 
slight likeness to nature, and not always even 
consistent to their own projection, but strong in 
comic effed and abundantly laughter-compelling. 
They are caricatures, if you will, but caricatures 
of great force, full of robust fun, tough in tex- 
ture, and able to stand by themselves, in spite 
of any artistic inequality. Squire Acres is a coun- 
try gentleman of limited intelligence, incapable 
of acquiring, even by contagion, the curious sys- 
[ xiv ] 



Introdudion 

tem of referential swearing by which he gives 
variety to his speech. But "odds, bullets, and 
blades!" as he says, his indeterminate valour is 
so aptly utilized, and his ultimate poltroonery in 
the duel scene is so whimsically developed, and 
so sharply contrasted with the Irish assurance 
and ease of Sir Lucius O'Trigger, that he would 
be a hard-hearted critic indeed who could taunt 
Mr. Acres with his artistic shortcomings. And 
it surely takes a very acute mind to blunder so 
happily in the "derangement of epitaphs" as 
does Mrs. Malaprop ; she must do it with malice 
prepense, and as though she, and not her niece, 
were as " headstrong as an allegory on the banks 
of the Nile." It is only a sober second thought, 
however, which allows us to "cast aspersions on 
her parts of speech." While Bob Acres and Mrs. 
Malaprop are before us we accept them as they 
are; and here we touch what was at once Sheri- 
dan's weakness and his strength, which lay side 
by side. He sought, first of all, theatrical effed; 
dramatic excellence was a secondary and subser- 
vient consideration. On the stage, where all goes 
with a snap, consistency of charader is not as 
[xv] 



Introdudion 

important as distlndlness of drawing. The attri- 
butes of a charadler may be incongruous if they 
make the charader itself more readily recogniza- 
ble; and the attention of the speculator may be 
taken from the incongruity by humour of situa- 
tion and quickness of dialogue. Acres's odd oaths 
are no great strain on consistency, and they help 
to fix him in our memory. Mrs. Malaprop's in- 
genuity in dislocating the didionary is very amus- 
ing, and Sheridan did not hesitate to invent ex- 
travagant blunders for her, any more than he 
hesitated to lend his own wit to Fag and David, 
the servants, who were surely as incapable of 
appreciating it as they were of inventing it. After 
all, Sheridan had to live on his wit; and he wrote 
his 'plays to make money by its display. And 
the more of himself he put into each of his char- 
acters, the more brilliant the play. To say this 
is, of course, to say that Sheridan belongs in the 
second rank of comedy writers, with Congreve 
and Regnard, and not in the class with Shak- 
spere and Moliere. But humour and an insight 
into human nature are not found united with the 
play-making faculty once in a century; there is 
[ ^vi 1 



Introduftion 

only one Shakspere, and only one Moliere. It 
is well that a quick wit and a lively fancy can 
amuse us not unsatisfadlorily, and that, in de- 
fault of Shakspere and Moliere, we have at least 
Beaumarchais and Sheridan. 

It is well that Sheridan wrote the Rivals ]ust 
when he did, or else both wit and humour might 
have been banished from the English stage for 
years. That there was ever any danger of Eng- 
lish comedy stiffening itself into prudish prig- 
gishness it is not easy now to credit; but in the 
eighteenth century the danger was real. A school 
of critics had arisen who prescribed that comedy 
should be genteel, and that it should eschew all 
treatment of ordinary human nature, confining 
itself chiefly to sentiment in high life. A school 
of dramatists, beginning with Steele (whom it is 
sad to see in such company), and including Cum- 
berland and Hugh Kelly, taught by example 
what these critics set forth by precept. The bulk 
of playgoers were never converted to these prin- 
ciples, but they obtained in literary society and 
were, for the moment, fashionable. There were 
not lacking those who protested. Fielding, who 
[ xvii ] 



Introdudtion 

had studied out something of the secret of Mo- 
liere's humour in the adaptations he made from 
the author of the Miser, had no sympathy with 
the new school; and when he came to write his 
great novel, Tom Jones, he had a sly thrust or 
two at the fashion. He introduces to us, for ex- 
ample, a puppet-show which was performed 
"with great regularity and decency. It was called 
the fine and serious part of the Provoked Hus- 
band, and it was indeed a very grave and solemn 
entertainment, without any low wit, or humour, 
or jests; or, to do it no more than justice, any- 
thing which could provoke a laugh. The audi- 
ence were all highly pleased." 

'Tom Jones was published in 1749 ; and in 1773 
Sentimental-Comedy still survived,and was ready 
to sneer at Goldsmith's She Sloops to Conquer, and 
to call its hearty and almost boisterous humour 
"low." But Tony Lumpkin's country laugh 
cleared the atmosphere. Sentimental-Comedy 
had received a deadly blow. Some months be- 
fore She Stoops to Conquer was brought out, Foote 
had helped to make the way straight for a re- 
vival of true comedy, whereat a man might ven- 
[ xviii ] 



Introduftion 

ture to laugh, by announcing a play for his 
*' Primitive Puppet-show," called the Handsome 
Housemaid, or Piety in Pattens, which was to illus- 
trate how a maiden of low degree, by the mere 
efFeds of her morality and virtue, raised her- 
self to honour and riches. In his life of Garrick, 
Tom Davies tells us that Piety in Pattens killed 
Sentimental-Comedy, although until then Hugh 
Kelly's False Delicacy had been the favourite 
play of the times. It is, perhaps, true that Foote 
scotched the snake; it is certain, however, that 
it was Sheridan who killed it. Two years after 
Goldsmith and Foote came Sheridan; and after 
the Rivals there was little chance for Sentimen- 
tal-Comedy. Moore prints passages from an 
early sketch of a farce, from which we can see 
that Sheridan never took kindly to the sentimen- 
tal school. Yet so anxious was he for the success 
of thei?/V^/i,and so important was this success to 
him, that he attempted to conciliate the wits and 
fine ladies who were bitten by the current craze; 
at least it is difficult to see any other reason for 
the characters of Julia and Faulkland, so differ- 
ent from all Sheridan's other work, and so wholly 
[ ^^^ ] 



Introdudlion 

wanting in the sparkle in which he excelled. And 
the calculation was seemingly not unwise; the 
scenes between Julia and Faulkland, to which 
we now listen with dumb impatience, and which 
Mr. Jefferson, in his version of the piece, has 
trimmed away, were received with delight. John 
Bernard, who was at one time secretary of the 
Beefsteak Club, and afterward one of the first of 
American managers, records in his amusing Re- 
trospe^tions that the audience at the first perform- 
ance of the i^/^'^/J contained "two parties, — those 
supporting the prevailing taste, and those who 
were indifferent to it, and liked nature. On the 
first night of a new play it was very natural that 
the former should predominate, and what was 
the consequence? Why, that Faulkland and Julia 
(which Sheridan had obviously introduced to 
conciliate the sentimentalists, but which, in the 
present day, are considered incumbrances) were 
the charaders most favourably received, whilst 
Sir Anthony Absolute, Bob Acres, and Lydia, 
those faithful and diversified pidures of life, were 
barely tolerated." 

But the sentimentalists were afterward present 

[XX] 



Introduftion 

in diminishing force; and the real success of the 

comedy came from those who could appreciate 

its fun and who were not too genteel to laugh. So 

Sheridan, writing a new prologue to be spoken 

on the tenth night, drew attention to the figure of 

Comedy (which stood on one side of the stage, as 

Tragedy did on the other), and bade the audience 

^^Loo\ on her well — does she seem fornCd to teach? 
Should you expert to hear this lady — preach F 
Is gray experience suited to her youth F 
Do solemn sentiments become that mouth? 
Tety thus adorned with every graceful art 
To charm the fancy and to reach the hearty 
Must we displace her? and instead advance 
The goddess of the woful countenance? — 
The Sentimental Muse I — Her emblems view — 
The ^Pilgri?n''s Progress^ and a sprig of rue! 
There fixed in usurpation should she standy 
She"* II snatch the dagger from her sister s hand; 
And having made her votaries weep a flood, 
Good heaven! sheUl end her comedies in blood!" 

Sheridan's use of the figures of Comedy and 
Tragedy is charadleristic of his aptness in turn- 
ing to his own advantage any accident upon 
which his quick wit could seize. Charaderistic, 
too, is the willingness to borrow a hint from an- 
other. Sheridan was not above taking his matter 
[ ^^i ] 



Introdudlion 

wherever he found it. Indeed, there are not want- 
ing those who say that Sheridan had nothing of 
his own, and was barely able to cover his men- 
tal nakedness with rags stolen everywhere. John 
Forster declared that Lydia Languish and her 
lover owed something to Steele's "Tender Hus- 
band. Dibdin, in his History of the Stage ^ says that 
Lydia was stolen from Colman's Polly Honey- 
combe. Whipple found that Sir Anthony Abso- 
lute was suggested by Smollett's Matthew Bram- 
ble; and, improving on this, Thomas Arnold, 
in the article on English Literature in the Ency- 
clopaedia Britannica, spoke of the Rivals as dug 
out of Humphrey Clinker. Watkins, Sheridan's 
first biographer, had already pretended to trace 
Mrs. Malaprop toa waiting-woman in Fielding's 
Joseph Andrews; other critics had called her a 
reproduction of Mrs. Heidelberg, inColman and 
Garrick's Clandestine Marriage. And a more re- 
cent writer spoke of Theodore Hook's Rams- 
bottom Papers as containing the original of all 
the Mrs. Malaprops and Mrs. Partingtons. Not 
only were the characters thus all copied here and 
there, but the incidents also are stolen. Moore 
[ xxii ] 



Introdudion 

and Mrs. Inchbald point out that Faulkland's 
trial of Julia's affedion by a pretended danger 
and need of instant flight, is anticipated both in 
Prior's Nut-brown Maid^ and in Smollett's Fer- 
egrine Fickle; and Boaden, in his biography of 
Kemble, finds the same situation in the Memoirs 
of Miss Sidney Biddulph^ a novel by Sheridan's 
mother, which was once very popular, but which 
Sheridan told Rogers he had never read. Not 
content with thus robbing Sheridan of the con- 
stituent parts of his play, an attempt has been 
made to deprive him of the play itself. Under 
the head of Literary Gossip, a British weekly 
called The Athen^um^ on January i, 1876, had 
this paragraph: 

"A very curious and most interesting faft has come to 
light at the British Museum. Among the colleftion of 
old plays (presented to that institution by Mr. Coventry 
Patmore in 1864) which formerly belonged to Richard 
Brinsley Sheridan, has been found the holograph original 
of the comedy The Trip to Bath^ written in 1749, by 
Mrs. Frances Sheridan, his mother, and which, it is said 
in Moore's Life of Sheridan, was the source of his play 
of the Rivals, A very slight comparison of the two plays 
leaves no doubt whatever of the faft ; and in the char- 
after of Mrs. Malaprop, Sheridan has aftually borrowed 
[ xxiii ] 



Introduftion 

some of her amusing blunders from the original Mrs. 
Tryfort without any alteration whatever." 

I have massed these accusations together to 
meet them with a general denial. I have com- 
pared Sheridan^s characters and incidents with 
the so-called originals; and I confess that I can 
see very little likeness in any case, and no ground 
at all for a charge of plagiarism. It is not that 
Sheridan was at all above borrowing from his 
neighbour: it is that in the Rivals he did not so 
borrow, or that his borrowings are trifling and 
trivial both in quantity and quality. Polly Hon- 
eycombe, for example, is like Lydia Languish 
in her taste for novel-reading, in her romantic 
notions, and in nothing else; Polly figures in 
farce and Lydia in high comedy ; Polly is a 
shopkeeper's daughter, and Lydia has the fine 
airs of good society. It is as hard to see a like- 
ness between Polly and Lydia as it is to see 
just what Sheridan owes to Steele's 'Tender Hus- 
band, The accusation that the Rivals is indebted 
to Humphrey Clinker is absurd ; Sir Anthony Ab- 
solute is not at all like Mr. Matthew Bramble; 
indeed, in all of Smollett's novel, of which the 
[ xxiv ] 



Introdudion 

humour is so rich, not to say oily, there is no- 
thing which recalls Sheridan's play, save possi- 
bly Mistress Tabitha Bramble, who is an old 
woman, anxious to marry and mistaking a pro- 
posal for her niece to be one for her own hand, 
and who blunders in her phrases. How far, 
however, from Sheridan's neat touch is Smol- 
lett's coarse stroke! "Mr. Gwynn," says Mis- 
tress Tabitha to Quin the a6lor, "I was once 
vastly entertained with your playing the Ghost 
of Gimlet at Drury Lane, when you rose up 
through the stage with a white face and red eyes, 
and spoke o^ quails upon the frightful porcupine.'' 
Mrs. Slipslop, in Joseph Andrews, has also a 
misapplication of words, but never so aptly in- 
congruous and so exadly inaccurate as Mrs. 
Malaprop. This trick of speech is all either 
Mistress Bramble or Mrs. Slipslop have in com- 
mon with Mrs. Malaprop; and Mrs. Heidel- 
berg has not even this. The charge that Mrs. 
Malaprop owes aught to Theodore Hook is 
highly comic and preposterous, as Hook was 
born in 1788, and published the Ramsbottom 
Papers between 1 824 and 1828, — say half a cen- 

[ XXV ] 



Introduftion 

tury after Mrs. Malaprop had proved her claim 
to immortality. And it is scarcely less comic and 
preposterous to imagine that Sheridan could 
have derived the scene between Julia and Faulk- 
land from Prior's Nut-brown Maid^ and from 
Smollett's Peregrine Pick/e, d,nd from Mrs. Sheri- 
dan's Sidney Biddulph; the situation in the play 
differs materially from those in the three other 
produ6lions. Remains only the sweeping charge 
of 'The Athenaeum; and this well-nigh as cause- 
less as the rest. The manuscript of which The 
Athen(£um speaks is No. 25,975, and it is called 
A Journey to Bath; it ends with the third ad, and 
two more are evidently wanting. It is only "a 
very slight comparison" of this comedy of Mrs. 
Sheridan's with her son's Rivals^ which "leaves 
no doubt whatever" of the taking of the latter 
from the former. I have read the Journey to Bath 
very carefully; it is a rather lively comedy, such 
as were not uncommon in 1750; and it is wholly 
unlike the Rivals, The chara6lers of the Journey 
to Bath are: Lord Hewkly; Sir Jeremy Bull, 
Bart.; Sir Jonathan Bull, his brother, a city 
knight; Edward, son to Sir Jonathan; Champi- 
[ xxvi ] 



Introdudtion 

gnon; Stapleton; Lady Filmot; Lady Bel Air- 
castle; Mrs. Tryfort, a citizen's widow; Lucy, 
her daughter; Mrs. Surface, one who keeps a 
lodging-house at Bath. Mrs. Surface, it may be 
noted, is a scandalmonger, who hates scandal; 
and Sheridan used both the name and the char- 
adler in his later and more brilliant comedy. In 
the Journey to Bath and the Rivals^ the scenes 
are laid at Bath ; and here the likeness ends, — ex- 
cept that Mrs. Tryfort seems to be a sort of first 
draft of Mrs. Malaprop. It is difficult to doubt 
that Sheridan had read his mother's comedy 
and had claimed as his by inheritance this Mrs. 
Tryfort, who is described by one of the other 
characters as the "vainest poor creature, and the 
fondest of hard words, which, without miscall- 
ing, she always takes care to misapply." Few 
of her misapplications, however, are as happy as 
those of Mrs. Malaprop. 

After all, the invention is rather Shakspere's 
than Mrs. Sheridan's. Mrs. Malaprop is but 
Dogberry in petticoats. And the fault of which 
Whipple accused Sheridan may be laid at Shak- 
spere's door also. Whipple called Mrs. Mala- 
[ xxvii ] 



Introdud:ioii 

prop's mistakes "too felicitously infelicitous to 
be natural," and declares them " charaderistic, 
not of a mind flippantly stupid, but curiously 
acute," and that we laugh at her as we should 
at an acquaintance "who was exercising his in- 
genuity, instead of exposing his ignorance." This 
is all very true, but true it is also that Dogberry 
asked," Who think you to be the most desertless 
man to be constable ? " And again, "Is our whole 
dissembly appeared ? " And " O villain ! thou wilt 
be condemned into everlasting redemption for 
this ! " Sheridan has blundered in good company, 
at all events. 

Not contentwith finding suggestions for Sher- 
idan's work in various fidions, his earliest bi- 
ographer. Dr. Watkins, suggests that the plot 
of the Rivals was taken from life, having been 
suggested by his own courtship of Miss Linley 
and the ensuing duel with Captain Mathews. 
And a later biographer, Mrs. Oliphant, chose to 
identify Miss Lydia Languish with Mrs. Sheri- 
dan. Both suggestions are absurd. There is no 
warrant whatever for the assumption that any 
similarity existed between Miss Linley and Miss 
[ xxviii ] 



Introdudion 

Languish; and the incidents of Sheridan's com- 
edy do not at all coincide with the incidents of 
Sheridan's biography. Already, in his Maid of 
Bathy had Foote set Miss Linley and one of her 
suitors on the stage; and surely Sheridan, who 
would not let his wife sing in public, would shrink 
from putting the story of their courtship into a 
comedy. It has been suggested, though, that in 
the duel scene Sheridan profited by his own ex- 
perience on the field of honour; and also, that 
in the character of Faulkland he sketched his 
own state of mind during the long hours of wait- 
ing, when he was desperately in love, and saw 
little hope of marital happiness; in the days when 
he had utilized the devices of the stage, and for 
the sake of getting near to her for a few minutes, 
he had disguised himself as the coachman who 
drove her at night to her father's house. This 
may be true; but it is as dangerous as it is easy 
to apply the speeches of a dramatist, speaking 
in many a feigned voice, to the circumstances of 
his own life. 

The Rivals, as a play, has suffered the usual 
vicissitudes of all old favourites. Although never 
[ xxix ] 



Introdudlion 

long forgotten, it has been now and again neg- 
ledled and now and again harshly treated. Of 
late years the parts of Faulkland and Julia have 
been much curtailed when the comedy has been 
aded in England; and in the admirable revival 
eifeded in 1880 by Mr. Joseph Jefferson in the 
United States, Julia was wholly omitted and 
Faulkland was suffered to remain only that he 
might serve as a foil to Bob Acres. It is pleasant 
to note that when the play was produced at the 
Haymarket Theatre in London by Mr. and 
Mrs. Bancroft, the parts of Julia and Faulkland 
were restored to their pristine importance. In the 
Haymarket revival of 1884, as in a highly suc- 
cessful revival at the Vaudeville Theatre (where 
in 1882-3 ^^^ comedy was aded more than two 
hundred times), the part of Mrs. Malaprop was 
performed by Mrs. Sterling, whose reading of 
the part, although more conscious and aife(5led 
than Mrs. Drew's, was as effedive as any author 
could desire. In the United States we were for- 
tunate in the possession of Mr. John Gilbert, 
whose Sir Anthony Absolute may be matched 
with the great Sir Anthonys of the past. We may 
[ ^^^ ] 



Introduftion 

be sure that Mr. Gilbert's fine artistic conscience 
would forbid his repetition of a freak of Dow- 
ton's, who once, for a benefit, gave up Sir An- 
thony to appear as Mrs. Malaprop. 

Nor was this the only occasion when a man 
played a woman's part in this comedy. In his 
autobiography, Kotzebue (from whom the au- 
thor of the Rivals was afterward to borrow Pi- 
xarro) records the performance of the English 
comedy in German in the cloister of the Mino- 
ret's Convent, a performance in which the future 
German dramatist, then a mere youth, doubled 
the parts of Julia and Acres! In German as in 
French, there is more than one translation or 
adaptation of the Rivals \ and some of them are 
not without a comicality of their own. It is to 
be remembered, also, that on the celebrated visit 
of the English adors to Paris, in 1827, — a visit 
which had great influence on the development 
of French dramatic literature, and which may, 
indeed, be called the exciting cause of the Ro- 
mantic movement, — the first play presented to 
the Parisian public by the English adors was the 
Rivals, 

[ XXX i ] 



Author's Preface 

A PREFACE to a play seems generally to he 
, considered as a kind of closet-prologue^ in 
which — if his piece has been successful — the au- 
thor solicits that indulgence from the reader which 
he had before experienced from the audience; but as 
the scope and immediate object of a play is to please 
a mixed assembly in representation {whose judg- 
ment in the theatre at least is decisive)^ its degree 
of reputation is usually as determined as public ^ be- 
fore it can be prepared for the cooler tribunal of the 
study, nus any further solicitude on the part of 
the writer becomes unnecessary at leasty if not an 
intrusion ; and if the piece has been condemned in 
the performance y I fear an address to the closet ^ like 
an appeal to posterity ^ is constantly regarded as the 
procrastination of a suit ^ from a consciousness of the 
weakness of the cause. From these considerations ^ 
the following comedy would certainly have been sub- 
mitted to the reader y without any further introduc- 
tion than what it had in the representation^ hut 
that its success has probably been founded on a cir- 
cumstance which the author is informed has not 

[ xxxiii ] 



Author's Preface 

before attended a theatrical trials and which con- 
sequently ought not to pass unnoticed, 

I need scarcely add^ that the circumstance alluded 
to was the withdrawing of the piece ^ to remove those 
imperfections in the first representation which were 
too obvious to escape reprehension^ and too numer- 
ous to admit of a hasty cor region. There are few 
writers^ I believe, who, even in the fullest conscious- 
ness of error y do not wish to palliate the faults 
which they acknowledge : and, however trifling the 
performance, to second their confession of its defi- 
ciencies, by whatever plea seems least disgraceful to 
their ability. In the present instance, it cannot be 
said to aynount either to candour or modesty in me, 
to acknowledge an extreme inexperience and want 
of judgment on matters, in which, without guid- 
ance from pra5iice, or spur from success, a young 
man should scarcely boast of being an adept. If it be 
said, that under such disadvantages no one should 
attempt to write a play, I must beg leave to dissent 
from the position, while the first point of experience 
that I have gained on the subje^ is, a knowledge 
of the candour and judgment with which an im- 
partial public distinguishes between the errors of 
[ xxxiv ] 



Author's Preface 

inexperience and incapacity^ and the indulgence 
which it shows even to a disposition to remedy the 
defers of either. 

It were unnecessary to enter into any further ex- 
tenuation of what was thought exceptionable in this 
play, but that it has been said, that the managers 
should have prevented some of the defeats before its 
appearance to the public — and in particular the 
uncommon length of the piece as represented the first 
night. It were an ill return for the most liberal and 
gentlemanly conduct on their side^ to suffer any cen- 
sure to rest where none was deserved. Hurry in 
writing has long been exploded as an excuse for an 
author ; however, in the dramatic line, it may hap- 
pen^ that both an author and a manager may wish to 
fill a chasm in the entertainment of the public with 
a hastiness not altogether culpable. "The season was ad- 
vanced when I first put the play into Mr, Harris's 
hands ; it was at that time at least double the length 
of any a5ling comedy. I profited by his judgment and 
experience in the curtailing of it — ////, / believe^ 
his feeling for the vanity of a young author got the 
better of his desire for correctness^ and he left many 
excrescences remaining^ because he had assisted in 

[ XXXV ] 



Author's Preface 

pruning so many more. Hence, though I was not 
uninformed that the a5ls were still too long^ I flat- 
tered myself that ^ after the first trials I might with 
safer judgment proceed to remove what should appear 
to have been most dissatisfa5lory. Many other er- 
rors there were, which might in part have arisen 
from my being by no means conversant with plays 
in general^ either in reading or at the theatre, Tet 
I own that, in one respe5l, I did not regret my ig- 
norance; for as my first wish in attempting a play 
was to avoid every appearance of plagiary, I thought 
I should stand a better chance of effe^ling this from 
being in a walk which I had not frequented, and 
where, consequently, the progress of invention was 
less likely to be interrupted by starts of recolle^lion : 
for on subjects on which the mind has been much 
informed, invention is slow of exerting itself Faded 
ideas float in the fancy like half-forgotten dreams; 
and the imagination in its fullest enjoyments becomes 
suspicious of its ojfspring, and doubts whether it 
has created or adopted. 

With regard to some particular passages which 
on the first nighfs representation seemed generally 
disliked, I confess, that if I felt any emotion ofsur- 
[ xxxvi ] 



Author's Preface 

prise at the disapprobation^ it was not that they were 
disapproved of, but that I had not before perceived 
that they deserved it. As some part of the attack on 
the piece was begun too early to pass for the sentence 
^/judgment, which is ever tardy in condemning ^ 
it has been suggested to me, that much of the disap- 
probation must have arisen from virulence of malice, 
rather than severity of criticism ; but as I was more 
apprehensive of there being just grounds to excite 
the latter than conscious of having deserved the for- 
mer, I continue not to believe that probable, which 
I am sure must have been unprovoked. However, if 
it was so, and I could even mark the quarter from 
whence it came, it would be ungenerous to retort; 
for no passion suffers more than malice from disap- 
pointment. For my own part^ I see no reason why 
the author of a play should not regard a first night's 
audience as a candid and judicious friend attending^ 
in behalf of the public, at his last rehearsal. If he 
can dispense with flattery, he is sure at least of sin- 
cerity, and even though the annotation be rude^ he 
may rely upon the justness of the comment. Consid- 
ered in this light, that audience, whose fiat is essen- 
tial to the poet's claim, whether his object be fame 
[ xxxvii ] 



Author's Preface 

or profit y has surely a right to expe5i some deference 
to its opinion^ from principles of politeness at least^ 
if not from gratitude. 

As for the little puny critics ^ who scatter their 
peevish strictures in private circles ^ and scribble at 
every author who has the eminence of being uncon- 
nected with them^ as they are usually spleen-swoln 
from a vain idea of increasing their consequence, 
there will always be found a petulance and illiber- 
ality in their remarks which should place them as 
far beneath the notice of a gentleman, as their ori- 
ginal dulness had sunk them from the level of the 
most unsuccessful author. 

It is not without pleasure that I catch at an op- 
portunity of justifying myself from the charge of in- 
tending any national reflection in the character of 
Sir Lucius O' Trigger, If any gentlemen opposed the 
piece from that idea, I thank them sincerely for their 
opposition ; and if the condemnation of this comedy 
{however misconceived the provocation)^ could have 
added one spark to the decaying flame of national 
attachment to the country supposed to be reflected on, 
I should have been happy in its fate; and might 

with truth have boasted^ that it had done more real 
[ xxxviii ] 



Author's Preface 

service in its failure than the successful morality of 
a thousand stage-novels will ever effect. 

It is usual, I believe, to thank the performers in 
a new play, for the exertion of their several abili- 
ties. But where {as in this instance) their merit has 
been so striking and uncontr over ted, as to call for 
the warmest and truest applause from a number of 
judicious audiences, the poet's after-praise comes like 
the feeble acclamation of a child to close the shouts 
of a multitude. The condu5l, however, of the prin- 
cipals in a theatre cannot be so apparent to the pub- 
lic, I think it, therefore, but justice to declare that 
from this theatre {the only one I can speak of from 
experience) those writers who wish to try the dra- 
matic line will meet with that candour and liberal 
attention which are generally allowed to be better 
calculated to lead genius into excellence, than either 
the precepts of judgment, or the guidance of experi- 
ence. The Author 



The Rivals 



Dramatis Personae 

As originally a^ed at Covent-Garden Theatre in IJJS 

Sir Anthony Absolute Mr. Shuter 

Captain Absolute Mr. Woodward 

Faulkland Mr. Lewis 

Acres ^ Mr. Quick 

Sir Lucius O^ Trigger Mr. Lee^ 

Fag Mr. Lee Lewes 

David Mr. Dunstal 

Thomas Mr. Fear on 

Mrs. Malaprop Mrs. Green 

Lydia Languish Miss Barsanti 

Julia Mrs. Bulkley 

Lucy Mrs. Lessingham 

Maid, Boy, Servants, etc. 

Scene : BaUk 
Time of Action : Five Hours 



Afterwards by Mr. Clinch, 



Prologue 



*frji\\ ISsxCvlV 



BY THE AUTHOR 

Spoken by Mr, Woodward and Mr. Quick 

Enter Serjeant-at-law, and Attorney following and 
giving a paper 

ERJ, What's here! — a vile cramp 

hand ! I cannot see 
Without my spectacles. 

Jtt. He means his fee. 

Nay, Mr. Serjeant, good sir, try again. 

\^Gives money 
Serj. The scrawl improves! [more] O come, 'tis 
pretty plain. 
Hey! how's this? Dibble! — sure it cannot be! 
A poet's brief! a poet and a fee ! 

Jtt. Yes, sir ! though you without reward, I know, 
Would gladly plead the Muse's cause. 

Serj. So! — so! 

Jtt. And if the fee offends, your wrath should fall 
On me. 

Serj. Dear Dibble, no offence at all. 
Jtt. Some sons of Phoebus in the courts we meet, 
Serj. And fifty sons of Phoebus in the Fleet ! 
Jtt. Nor pleads he worse, who with a decent sprig 
Of bays adorns his legal waste of wig. 

Serj. Full-bpttom'd heroes thus, on signs, unfurl 
A leaf of laurel in a grove of curl 1 

• [ 3 ] 



The Rivals 

Yet tell your client that, in adverse days, 
This wig is warmer than a bush of bays. 

Att. Do you, then, sir, my client's place supply, 
Profuse of robe and prodigal of tie — 
Do you, with all those blushing powers of face, 
And wonted bashful hesitating grace. 
Rise in the court, and flourish on the case. [Exit 

Serj. For praftice then suppose — this brief will show 

it,— 
Me, Serjeant Woodward, — counsel for the poet. 
Used to the ground, I know, 't is hard to deal 
With this dread court, from whence there 's no appeal; 
No tricking here, to blunt the edge of law. 
Or, damned in equity, escape hy faw : 
But judgment given, your sentence must remain ; 
No writ of error lies — to Drury-lane ! 

Yet when so kind you seem, 't is past dispute 
We gain some favour, if not costs of suit. 
No spleen is here! I see no hoarded fury; — 

— I think I never faced a milder jury ! 
Sad else our plight ! where frowns are transportation, 
A hiss the gallows, and a groan damnation ! 
But such the public candour, without fear 
My client waives all right of challenge here. 
No newsman from our session is dismiss'd, 
Nor wit nor critic we scratch off the list ; 
His faults can never hurt another's ease, 
His crime, at worst, a bad attempt to please : 
Thus, all respecting, he appeals to all. 
And by the general voice will stand ox falL 

[4] 



Prologue 

BY THE AUTHOR 

Spoken on the tenth nighty by Mrs. Bulkley 

RANTED our cause, our suit and trial 



^^^41^1 


J 




j^j^' 








G 




















^^^■^ 







The worthy Serjeant need appear no 

more : 
In pleasing I a different client choose, 
He served the Poet — I would serve the Muse: 
Like him, I '11 try to merit your applause, 
A female counsel in a female's cause. 

Look on this form,^ — where Humour, quaint and 
sly. 
Dimples the cheek, and points the beaming eye ; 
Where gay Invention seems to boast its wiles 
In amorous hint, and half-triumphant smiles; 
While her light mask or covers Satire's strokes, 
Or hides the conscious blush her wit provokes. 

— Look on her well — does she seem form'd to teach ? 
Should you expeSf to hear this lady preach ? 
Is gray experience suited to her youth ? 
Do solemn sentiments become that mouth ? 
Bid her be grave, those lips should rebel prove 
To every theme that slanders mirth or love. 

Yet, thus adorn'd with every graceful art 
To charm the fancy and yet reach the heart — 
Must we displace her? And instead advance 

' Pointing to the figure of Comedy. 

[5 1 



The Rivals 

The Goddess of the woful countenance — 

The sentimental Muse ! — Her emblems view, 

The Pilgrim's Progress, and a sprig of rue ! 

View her — too chaste to look like flesh and blood — 

Primely portrayed on emblematic wood ! 

There, fix'd in usurpation, should she stand, 

She '11 snatch the dagger from her sister's hand : 

And having made her votaries weep a flood^ 

Good heaven! she'll end her comedies in blood — 

Bid Harry Woodward break poor Dunstal's crown ; 

Imprison Quick, and knock Ned Shuter down ; 

While sad Barsanti, weeping o'er the scene, 

Shall stab herself — or poison Mrs. Green. — 

Such dire encroachments to prevent in time, 
Demands the critic's voice — the poet's rhyme. 
Can our light scenes add strength to holy laws ? 
Such puny patronage but hurts the cause : 
Fair Virtue scorns our feeble aid to ask; 
And moral Truth disdains the trickster's mask. 
For here their fav'rite stands,^ whose brow, severe 
And sad, claims Youth's respeft, and Pity's tear; 
Who, when oppress'd by foes her worth creates. 
Can point a poniard at the Guilt she hates. 



* Pointing to Tragedy. 

[6] 



1 


w 


m 


F 


^ 


^ 


M 


m 



The Rivals: AA I 

Scene I : J Street in Bath 

Enter Thomas; he crosses the stage; Y AG follows^ 
looking after him 
AG, What! Thomas! — Sure 'tis he! — 
What! Thomas! Thomas! 

Thos, Hey! — Odds life! Mr. Fag! — 
give us your hand, my old fellow-servant, 
i^^^. Excuse myglove, Thomas : — I 'm 
devilish glad to see you, my lad. Why, my prince of 
charioteers, you look as hearty! — but who the deuce 
thought of seeing you in Bath ? 

Thos. Sure, master, Madam Julia, Harry, Mrs. Kate, 
and the postilion, be all come. 
Fag. Indeed ! 

Thos. Ay, master thought another fit of the gout was 
coming to make him a visit; — so he'd a mind to gi't 
the slip, and whip! we were all off at an hour's warn- 
ing. 

Fag. Ay, ay, hasty in everything, or it would not be 
Sir Anthony Absolute! 

Thos. But tell us, Mr. Fag, how does young master ? 
Odd! Sir Anthony will stare to see the captain here! 
Fag. I do not serve Captain Absolute now. 

[7] 



The Rivals 

Thos. Why sure ! 

Fag. At present I am employed by Ensign Beverley, 

Thos. I doubt, Mr. Fag, you ha'n't changed for the 
better. 

Fag. I have not changed, Thomas. 

Thos. No! Why, didn't you say you had left young 
master ? 

Fag. No. — Well, honest Thomas, I must puzzle you 
no farther: — briefly then — Captain Absolute and En- 
sign Beverley are one and the same person. 

Thos. The devil they are! 

Fag. So it is indeed, Thomas ; and the ensign half of 
my master being on guard at present — the captain has 
nothing to do with me. 

Thos. So, so! — What, this is some freak, I warrant! 
— Do tell us, Mr. Fag, the meaning o't — you know I 
ha' trusted you. 

Fag. You'll be secret, Thomas? 

Thos. As a coach-horse. 

Fag. Why then the cause of all this is — Love. — 
Love, Thomas, who (as you may get read to you) has 
been a masquerader ever since the days of Jupiter. 

TJios. Ay, ay; — I guessed there was a lady in the 
case: — but pray, why does your master pass only for 
ensign P Now if he had shammed ^^«^r^/ indeed — 

Fag. Ah ! Thomas, there lies the mystery o' the mat- 
ter. Hark'ee, Thomas, my master is in love with a lady 
of a very singular taste ; a lady who likes him better as 
a half-pay ensign than if she knew he were son and heir 

[8] 



Ad First 

to Sir Anthony Absolute, a baronet of three thousand a 
year. 

Thos. That is an odd taste indeed! — But has she got 
the stuff, Mr. Fag ? Is she rich, hey ? 

Fag, Rich! Why, I beh'eve she owns half the stocks! 
Zounds! Thomas, she could pay the national debt as 
easily as I could my washerwoman ! She has a Ip^og that 
eats out of gold, — she feeds her parrot with small pearls, 
— and all her thread-papers are made of bank-notes! 

Thos. Bravo, faith ! — Odd ! I warrant she has a set of 
thousands at least : but does she draw kindly with the 
captain ? 

Fag. As fond as pigeons. 

Thos, May one hear her name ? 

Fag, Miss Lydia Languish. — But there is an old 
tough aunt in the way; — though, by the by, she has 
never seen my master — for we got acquainted with 
miss while on a visit in Gloucestershire. 

Thos. Well — I wish they were once harnessed to- 
gether in matrimony. — But pray, Mr. Fag, what kind 
of a place is this Bath? — I ha' heard a deal of it — 
here's a mort o' merry-making, hey? 

Fag, Pretty well, Thomas, pretty well — 'tis a good 
lounge; in the morning we go to the pump-room 
(though neither my master nor I drink the waters); 
after breakfast we saunter on the parades, or play a game 
at billiards; at night we dance; but damn the place, I'm 
tired of it ; their regular hours stupefy me — not a fiddle 
nor a card after eleven! — However, Mr. Faulkland's 
gentleman and I keep it up a little in private parties — 

[9l 



The Rivals 

I '11 introduce you there,Thomas — you '11 like him much. 

Thos. Sure I know Mr. Du-Peigne — you know his 
master is to marry Madam Julia. 

Fag. I had forgot. — But, Thomas, you must polish 
a little — indeed you must. — Here now — this wig! — 
What the devil do you do with a wig, Thomas ? — 
None of the London whips of any degree of ton wear 
wigs now. 

Thos. More 's the pity ! more's the pity, I say. — Odds 
life! when I heard how the lawyers and dodlors had took 
to their own hair, I thought how 't would go next : — 
Odd rabbit it! when the fashion had got foot on the bar, 
I guessed 'twould mount to the box, — but 'tis all out 
of character, believe me, Mr. Fag: and look'ee, I'll 
never gi' up mine — the lawyers and doctors may do as 
they will. 

Fag. Well, Thomas, we'll not quarrel about that. 

TIws. Why, bless you, the gentlemen of the profes- 
sions ben't all of a mind — for in our village now, thofiF 
Jack Gauge, the exciseman has ta'en to his carrots, 
there's little Dick the farrier swears he'll never forsake 
his bob, though all the college should appear with their 
own heads! 

Fag. Indeed! well said, Dick! — But hold! — mark! 
— mark! Thomas. 

Thos. Zooks! 'tis the captain. — Is that the lady with 
him ? 

Fag, No, no, that is Madam Lucy, my master's mis- 
tress's maid. They lodge at that house — but I must after 
him to tell him the news. 

[10] 



Ad First 

Thos. Odd! he*s giving her money! — Well, Mr. 
Fag 

Fag. Good-by, Thomas. I have an appointment in 
Gyde's Porch this evening at eight; meet me there, and 
we'll make a little party. [Exeunt severally 



Scene II : J Dressing-room in Mrs. Malaprop's Lodgings 

Lydia sitting on a sofa^ with a book in her hand. Lucy, 
as just returned from a message 

Lucy. Indeed, ma'am, I traversed half the tovv^n in 
search of it ; I don't believe there 's a circulating library 
in Bath I ha'n't been at. 

Lyd. And could not you get The Reward of Constancy ? 

Lucy. No, indeed, ma'am. 

Lyd. Nor The Fatal Connexion P 

Lucy. No, indeed, ma'am. 

Lyd. Nor The Mistakes of the Heart F 

Lucy. Ma'am, as ill luck would have it, Mr. Bull said 
Miss Sukey Saunter had just fetched it away. 

Lyd. Heigh-ho! — Did you inquire for The Delicate 
Distress f 

Lucy. Or, The Memoirs of Lady Woodford? Yes, in- 
deed, ma'am. I asked everywhere for it ; and I might have 
brought it from Mr. Frederick's, but Lady Slattern 
Lounger, who had just sent it home, had so soiled and 
dog's-eared it, it wa'n't fit for a Christian to read. 

Lyd. Heigh-ho! — Yes, I always know when Lady 
Slattern has been before me. She has a most observing 



The Rivals 

thumb ; and, I believe, cherishes her nails for the con- 
venience of making marginal notes. — Well, child, w^hat 
have you brought me ? 

Lucy. Oh! here, ma'am. — [Taking hooks from under 
her cloak^ and from her pockets^ This is The Gordian Knot^ 
— and this Peregrine Pickle. Here are The Tears of Sen- 
sibility and Humphrey Clinker.)Th\s is The 'Memoirs of 
a Lady of^ality^ written by herself and here the second 
volume of The Sentimental journey . 

Lyd. Heigh-ho! — -What are those books by the 
glass ? 

Lucy. The great one is only The Whole Duty of Man ^ 
where I press a few blonds, ma'am. 

Lyd. Very well — give me the sal volatile. 

Lucy. Is it in a blue cover, ma'am? 

Lyd. My smelling-bottle, you simpleton ! 

Lucy. Oh, the drops; — here, ma'am. 

Lyd. Hold ! — here's some one coming — quick, see 
who it is. — \Exit Lucy.] Surely I heard my cousin 

Julia's voice. 

Reenter LucY 

Lucy. Lud ! ma'am, here is Miss Melville. 

Lyd. Is it possible ! — \Exit Lucy 

Enter Julia 

Lyd. My dearest Julia, how delighted am I! — [Em- 
brace^ How unexpected was this happiness ! 

ful. True, Lydia, and our pleasure is the greater. — 
But what has been the matter? — you were denied to 
me at first 1 

[ "] 



•* Welly child y what have pu brought meP^* 



. . Oh ! here, ma*am, 
: loak^ and from her pock i^ 
uid this Peregrine P 

! unie of 1 he Sc 

Lyd, Heigh~ho \ 
i^lass ? 

Lucy, The great onu 
.(cre I press a few biyiids, i:ia am. 

,' / Vcrv- wA} — invf- rne the SC4I :}n]iitlh. 

'\\ ma'ai. 

I simpleton ! 
. ma'am. 



\'^"^«T^^Ivfc'(l^V5;^'^ tV^^'M ,'tiV\'^^ tWv^ 



Ad First 

Lyd, Ah, Julia, I have a thousand things to tell you' 
— But first inform me what has conjured you to Bath ? 
Is Sir Anthony here? 

Jul. He is — we are arrived within this hour — and 
I suppose he will be here to wait on Mrs. Malaprop as 
soon as he is dressed. 

Lyd, Then before we are interrupted, let me impart 
to you some of my distress! — I know your gentle na- 
ture will sympathize with me, though your prudence 
may condemn met My letters have informed you of 
my whole connexion with Beverley! but I have lost 
him, Julia! My aunt has discovered our intercourse by 
a note she intercepted, and has confined me ever since! 
Yet, would you believe it ? she has absolutely fallen in 
love with a tall Irish baronet she met one night since 
we have been here, at Lady Macshuffle's rout. 

JuL You jest, Lydia! 

Lyd, No, upon my word. She really carries on a kind 
of correspondence with him, under a feigned name 
though, till she chooses to be known to him ; — but it is 
a Delia or a Celia, I assure you. 

Jul, Then, surely, she is now more indulgent to her 
niece. 

Lyd. Quite the contrary. Since she has discovered her 
own frailty, she is become more suspicious of mine. 
Then I must inform you of another plague! — That 
odious Acres is to be in Bath to-day ; so that I protest 
I shall be teased out of all spirits! 

Jul, Come, come, Lydia, hope for the best. — Sir 
Anthony shall use his interest with Mrs. Malaprop. 

[ '3] 



The Rivals 

Lyd. But you have not heard the worst. Unfortu- 
nately I had quarrelled with my poor Beverley, just be- 
fore my aunt made the discovery, and I have not seen 
him since, to make it up. 

Jul. What was his offence? 

Lyd. Nothing at all ! — But I don't know how it was, 
as often as we had been together, we had never had a 
quarrel, and, somehow, I was afraid he would never give 
me an opportunity. So, last Thursday, I wrote a letter 
to myself, to inform myself that Beverley was at that 
time paying his addresses to another woman. I signed it 
your friend unknozun^ showed it to Beverley, charged 
him with his falsehood, put myself in a violent passion, 
and vowed I'd never see him more. 

Jul. And you let him depart so, and have not seen 
him since ? 

Lyd. 'T was the next day my aunt found the matter 
out. I intended only to have teased him three days and 
a half, and now I've lost him for ever. 

Jul. If he is as deserving and sincere as you have re- 
presented him to me, he will never give you up so. Yet 
consider, Lydia, you tell me he is but an ensign, and 
you have thirty thousand pounds. 

Lyd. But you know I lose most of my fortune if I 
marry without my aunt's consent, till of age ; and that 
is what I have determined to do, ever since I knew the 
penalty. Nor could I love the man, who would wish to 
wait a day for the alternative. 

Jul. Nay, this is caprice ! 

Lyd. What, does Julia tax me with caprice? — I 

[ H] 



Ad First 

thought her lover Faulkland had inured her to it. 

JuL I do not love even his faults. 

Lyd. But apropos — you have sent to him, I suppose? 

y«/. Not yet, upon my vi^ord — nor has he the least 
idea of my being in Bath. Sir Anthony's resolution was 
so sudden, I could not inform him of it. 

Lyd. Well, Julia, you are your ov^^n mistress (though 
under the prote6lion of Sir Anthony), yet have you, for 
this long year, been a slave to the caprice, the whim, 
the jealousy of this ungrateful Faulkland, who will ever 
delay assuming the right of a husband, while you suffer 
him to be equally imperious as a lover. 

yul. Nay, you are wrong entirely. We were con- 
tracted before my father's death. That, and some con- 
sequent embarrassments, have delayed what I know to 
be my Faulkland's most ardent wish. He is too gener- 
ous to trifle on such a point: — and for his character, 
you wrong him there too. No, Lydia, he is too proud, 
too noble, to be jealous; if he is captious, 'tis without 
dissembling; if fretful, without rudeness. Unused to the 
fopperies of love, he is negligent of the little duties ex- 
pelled from a lover — but being unhackneyed in the 
passion, his affection is ardent and sincere; and as it en- 
grosses his whole soul, he expedts every thought and 
emotion of his mistress to move in unison with his. Yet, 
though his pride calls for this full return, his humility 
makes him undervalue those qualities in him which 
would entitle him to it ; and not feeling why he should 
be loved to the degree he wishes, he still suspe6ls that 
he is not loved enough. This temper, I must own, has 

[ IS] 



The Rivals 

cost me many unhappy hours ; but I have learned to 
think myself his debtor for those imperfe6tions which 
arise from the ardour of his attachment. 

Lyd. Well, I cannot blame you for defending him. 
But tell me candidly, Julia, had he never saved your 
life, do you think you should have been attached to him 
as you are? — Believe me, the rude blast that overset 
your boat w^as a prosperous gale of love to him. 

Jul. Gratitude may have strengthened my attach- 
ment to Mr. Faulkland, but I loved him before he had 
preserved me; yet surely that alone v^^ere an obligation 
sufficient. 

Lyd. Obligation! vi^hy a water-spaniel would have 
done as much! — Well, I should never think of giving 
my heart to a man because he could swim. 

Jul. Come, Lydia, you are too inconsiderate. 

Lyd. Nay, I do but jest. — What's here? 
Reenter Lucy in a hurry 

Lucy. O ma'am, here is Sir Anthony Absolute just 
come home with your aunt. 

Lyd. They'll not come here. — Lucy, do you watch. 

[Exit Lucy 

Jul. Yet I must go. Sir Anthony does not know I 
am here, and if we meet, he'll detain me, to show me 
the town. I'll take another opportunity of paying my 
respeds to Mrs. Malaprop, when she shall treat me, as 
long as she chooses, with her seleft words so ingeniously 
misappUedy without being mispronounced. 
Reenter Lucy 

Lucy. O Lud! ma'am, they are both coming up-stairs. 
[ «6] 



Ad First 

Lyd. Well, I'll not detain you, coz. — Adieu, my 
dear Julia. Fm sure you are in haste to send to Faullc- 
land. — There — through my room you'll find another 
staircase. 

yul. Adieu! [Embraces Lydia, and exit 

Lyd. Here, my dear Lucy, hide these books. Quick, 
quick. — Fling Peregrine Pickle under the toilet — throw 
Roderick Random into the closet — put The Innocent 
Adultery into The Whnle Duty of Man — thrust Lord 
Aimworth under the sofa — cram Ovid behind the bol- 
ster — there — put the Manof Feeling'mto your pocket — 
so, so — now lay Mrs. Chapone in sight, and leave For- 
dyce's Sermons open on the table. 

Lucy. Oh, burn it, ma'am! the hair-dresser has torn 
away as far as Proper Pride, 

Lyd. Never mind — open at Sobriety. — Fling me Lord 
Chesterfield^ s Letters. — Now for 'em. [Exit Lucy 

Enter Mrs. Malaprop and Sir Anthony Absolute 

Mrs. Mai. There, Sir Anthony, there sits the deli- 
berate simpleton who wants to disgrace her family, and 
lavish herself on a fellow not worth a shilling. 

Lyd. Madam, I thought you once — 

Mrs. Mai. You thought, miss! I don't know any 
business you have to think at all — thought does not be- 
come a young woman. But the point we would request 
of you is, that you will promise to forget this fellow — 
to illiterate him, I say, quite from your memory. 

Lyd. Ah, madam ! our memories are independent of 
our wills. It is not so easy to forget. 

[ 17] 



The Rivals 

Mrs. Mai. But I say it is, miss j there is nothing on 
earth so easy as to forget^ if a person chooses to set about 
it. I'm sure I have as much forgot your poor dear uncle 
as if he had never existed — and I thought it my duty 
so to do ; and let me tell you, Lydia, these violent mem- 
ories don't become a young woman. 

Sir Anth. Why sure she won't pretend to remember 
what she 's ordfered-n^TT^ay, this comes of her reading ! 

Lyd, What crime, madam, have I committed, to be 
treated thus? 

Mrs. Mai. Now don't attempt to extirpate yourself 
from the matter ; you know I have proof controvertible 
of it. — But tell me, Will you promise to do as you're 
bid ? Will you take a husband of your friends' choosing ? 

Lyd. Madam, I must tell you plainly, that had I no 
preference for any one else, the choice you have made 
would be my aversion. 

Mrs. Mai. What business have you, miss, with pre- 
ference and aversion ! They don't become a young wo- 
man ; and you ought to know, that as both always wear 
off, 't is safest in matrimony to begin with a little aver- 
sion. I am sure I hated your poor dear uncle before mar- 
riage as if he'd been a blackamoor — and yet, miss, you 
are sensible what a wife I made ! — and when it pleased 
Heaven to release me from him, 't is unknown what 
tears I shed ! — But suppose we were going to give you 
another choice, will you promise us to give up this Bev- 
erley ? 

Lyd. Could I belie my thoughts so far as to give that 
promise, my actions would certainly as far belie my words. 

[ i8] 




'■!s; 'i^i£i>:' <^ >i:^;^ ':-4i>.fr.^!>ff "^ivi" " it 



i^ '.i?? 



Fyy Sir Anthony! you surely speak laconically! 



K'blS^!. 



r->5^VAK ^Vi ,^ 



Ad First 

Mrs. Mai. Take yourself to your room. — You are 
fit company for nothing but your own ill-humours. 

Lyd. Willingly, ma'am. — I cannot change for the 
worse. ytxit 

Mrs. Mai. There 's a little intricate hussy for you ! 
Sir Anth. It is not to be wondered at, ma'am, — all 
this is the natural consequence of teaching girls to read. 
Had I a thousand daughters, by Heaven ! I 'd as soon 
have them taught the black art as their alphabet ! 

Mrs. Mai. Nay, nay. Sir Anthony, you are an abso- 
lute misanthropy. 

Sir Anth. In my way hither, Mrs. Malaprop, I ob- 
served your niece's maid coming forth from a circulat- 
ing library!— She had a book in each hand — they were 
half-bound volumes, with marble covers! — from that 
moment I guessed how full of duty I should see her 
mistress ! 

Mrs. Mai. Those are vile places, indeed ! 
Sir Anth. Madam, a circulating library in a town is 
as an evergreen tree of diabolical knowledge ! It blos- 
soms through the year ! — and depend on it, Mrs. Mala- 
prop, that they who are so fond of handling the leaves 
will long for the fruit at last. 

Mrs. Mai Fy, fy. Sir Anthony! you surely speak la- 
conically. 

Sir Anth. Why, Mrs. Malaprop, in moderation, now, 
what would you have a woman know ? 

Mrs. Mai Observe me. Sir Anthony, I would by no 
means wish a daughter of mine to be a progeny of learn- 
ing ; I don't think so much learning becomes a young 
[ 19] 



The Rivals 

woman; for instance, I would never let her meddle with 
Greek, or Hebrew, or Algebra, or Simony, or Flux- 
ions, or Paradoxes, or such inflammatory branches of 
learning — neither would it be necessary for her to han- 
dle any of your mathematical, astronomical, diabolical 
instruments. — But, Sir Anthony, I would send her, at 
nine years old, to a boarding-school, in order to learn a 
little ingenuity and artifice. Then, sir, she should have 
a supercilious knowledge in accounts; — and as she grew 
up, I would have her instrufted in geometry, that she 
might know something of the contagious countries; — 
but above all. Sir Anthony, she should be mistress of 
orthodoxy, that she might not misspell, and mispro- 
nounce words so shamefully as girls usually do; and 
likewise that she might reprehend the true meaning of 
what she is saying. This, Sir Anthony, is what I would 
have a woman know; — and I don't think there is a su- 
perstitious article in it. 

Sir Anth. Well, well, Mrs. Malaprop, I will dispute 
the point no further with you; though I must confess that 
you are a truly moderate and polite arguer, for almost 
every third word you say is on my side of the question. 
But, Mrs. Malaprop, to the more important point in 
debate — you say you have no objection to my proposal? 

Mrs. Mai. None, I assure you. I am under no posi- 
tive engagement with Mr. Acres, and as Lydia is so ob- 
stinate against him, perhaps your son may have better 
success. 

Sir Anth. Well, madam, I will write for the boy di- 
rectly. He knows not a syllable of this yet, though I 

[ 20] 



Aa First 

have for some time had the proposal in my head. He is 
at present with his regiment. 

Mrs. Mai. We have never seen your son, Sir An- 
thony; but I hope no objedtion on his side. 

5/r Anth. Obje6lion! — let him objeft if he dare! — 
No, no, Mrs. Malaprop, Jack know^s that the least de- 
mur puts me in a frenzy dire6lly. My process was al- 
ways very simple — in their younger days 'twas "Jack, 
do this"; — if he demurred, I knocked him down — and 
if he grumbled at that, I always sent him out of the 
room. 

Mrs. Mai. Ay, and the properest way, o' my con- 
science! — nothing is so conciliating to young people as 
severity. — Well, Sir Anthony, I shall give Mr. Acres 
his discharge, and prepare Lydia to receive your son's 
invocations; — and I hope you will present her to the 
captain as an objedl not altogether illegible. 

5/V Anth. Madam, I will handle the subje6l pru- 
dently. — Well, I must leave you; and let me beg you, 
Mrs. Malaprop, to enforce this matter roundly to the 
girl. — Take my advice — keep a tight hand: if she re- 
je6ts this proposal, clap her under lock and key; and if 
you were just to let the servants forget to bring her din- 
ner for three or four days, you can't conceive how she'd 
come about. \^Ex'it 

Mrs. Mai. Well, at any rate I shall be glad to get 
her from under my intuition. She has somehow dis- 
covered my partiality for Sir Lucius O'Trigger — sure, 
Lucy can't have betrayed me! — No, the girl is such a 
simpleton, I should have made her confess it. — Lucy! — 

[21] 



The Rivals 

Lucy! — [Cal/s.~\ Had she been one of your artificial 
ones, I should never have trusted her. 

Reenter Lucy 

Lucy, Did you call, ma'am ? 

Airs. Mai. Yes, girl. — Did you see Sir Lucius while 
you was out ? 

Lucy. No, indeed, ma'am, not a glimpse of him. 

Mrs. Mai. You are sure, Lucy, that you never men- 
tioned — 

Lucy. O Gemini ! I'd sooner cut my tongue out. 

Mrs. Mai. Well, don't let your simplicity be imposed 
on. 

Lucy. No, ma'am. 

Mrs. Mai. So, come to me presently, and I'll give 
you another letter to Sir Lucius; but mind, Lucy, — 
if ever you betray what you are entrusted with (unless 
it be other people's secrets to me), you forfeit my male- 
volence for ever ; and your being a simpleton shall be no 
excuse for your locality. \_Extt 

Lucy. Ha ! ha ! ha ! — So, my dear Simplicity, let me 
give you a little respite. — [Jltering her manner.'] Let 
girls in my station be as fond as they please of appear- 
ing expert, and knowing in their trusts ; commend me 
to a mask o^ silliness and a pair of sharp eyes for my own 
interest under it ! — Let me see to what account have 
I turned my simplicity lately. — \^Looks at a paper.] For 
abetting Miss Lydia Languish in a design of running away 
with an ensign! — in money ^ sundry timeSy twelve pounds 
twelve; gowns^five; hats^ ruffles^ caps^ ^c. ^c, numberless/ 
— From the said ensign^ within this last month^ six guineas 
[22], 



Tour being a simpleton shall be no excuse for your 
locality'' 



/?%. 




AA First 

and a half^ — about a quarter's pay ! — Item^ from Mrs, 
Malaprop for betraying the young people to her — when I 
found matters were likely to be discovered — two guineas^ 
and a black padusoy. — It^vn^ from Mr. Acres^for carrying 
divers letters — which I never delivered — two guineas^ 
and a pair of buckles. — \x.^vci^from Sir Lucius O^ Trigger, 
three crowns, two gold pocket-pieces, and a silver snuff-box! 
— Well done, Simplicity! — Yet I was forced to make 
my Hibernian believe that he was corresponding, not 
with the aunt, but with the niece : for though not over 
rich, I found he had too much pride and delicacy to sac- 
rifice the feelings of a gentleman to the necessities of 
his fortune. \Exit 



[23 J. 



Ad II 

Scene I : Captain Absolute's Lodgings 

Captain Absolute and Fag 

FAG. SiRy^while I was there Sir Anthony came in : I 
told him, you had sent me to inquire after his health, 
and to know if he was at leisure to see you. 

Abs, And what did he say, on hearing that I was at 
Bath ? 

Fag. Sir, in my life I never saw an elderly gentleman 
more astonished! He started back two or three paces, 
rapped out a dozen interje6lural oaths, and asked what 
the devil had brought you here. 

Abs. Well, sir, and what did you say? 

Fag. Oh, I'll ed, sir — I forget the precise lie ; but you 
may depend on't, he got no truth from me. Yet, with 
submission, for fear of blunders in future, I should be 
glad to fix what has brought us to Bath ; in order that 
we may lie a little consistently. Sir Anthony's servants 
were curious, sir, very curious indeed. 

Abs, You have said nothing to them — ? 

Fag, Oh, not a word, sir, — not a word! Mr. Thomas, 
indeed, the coachman (whom I take to be the discreet- 
est of whips) — 
\Abs. 'Sdeath! — you rascal! you have not trusted him! 

Fag, Oh, noy sir — no — no — not a syllable, upon my 
veracity! — he was, indeed, a little inquisitive; but I was 
sly, sir — devilish sly! My master (said I), honest Tho- 
mas, (you know, sir, one says honest to one's inferiors,) is 

[25 ] 



The Rivals 

come to Bath to recruit — yes, sir, I said to recruit — and 
whether for men, money, or constitution, you know, 
sir, is nothing to him, nor any one else. 

Abs. Well, recruit will do — let it be so. 
(^Fag. Oh, sir, recruit will do surprisingly — indeed, to 
give the thing an air, I told Thomas, that your honour 
had already enlisted five disbanded chairmen, seven mi- 
nority waiters, and thirteen billiard-markers. 

Abs. You blockhead, never say more than is neces- 
sary. 

Fag. I beg pardon, sir — I beg pardon — but, with 
submission, a lie is nothing unless one supports it. Sir, 
whenever I draw on my invention for a good current 
lie, I always forge indorsements as well as the bill. 

Abs. Well, take care you don't hurt your credit, by 
offering too much security. — Is Mr. Faulkland re- 
turned ? 

Fag. He is above, sir, changing his dress. 

Abs. Can you tell whether he has been informed of 
Sir Anthony's and Miss Melville's arrival ? 

Fag. I fancy not, sir ; he has seen no one since he came 
in but his gentleman, who was with him at Bristol. — 
I think, sir, I hear Mr. Faulkland coming down — 

Abs, Go tell him I am here. 

Fag. Yes, sir. — [Going.'] I beg pardon, sir, but should 
Sir Anthony call, you will do me the favour to remem- 
ber that we are recruitingy if you please. 

'Abs. Well, well. 

Fag. And, in tenderness to my character, if your 
honour could bring in the chairmen and waiters, I should 

[26] 



yet It Ik 



■\«v\'iTO\n. \;^^^^ 



eniisteu 
ers, and i- 
;' blockhe3< 



ilti> Ho, V 



Wbat can the girl mean?' 



AA Second 

esteem it as an obligation ; for though I never scruple 
to lie to serve my master, yet it hurts one's conscience 
to be found out. [Exit 

Abs. Now for my whimsical friend — if he does not 
know that his mistress is here, I'll tease him a little be- 
fore I tell him — 

Enter Faulkland i- 
Faulkland, you're welcome to Bath again; you are 
punftual in your return. 

Faulk. Yes ; I had nothing to detain me ; when I had 
finished the business I went on. Well, what news since 
I left you? How stand matters between you and Lydia? 

Abs. Faith, much as they were ; I have not seen her ) 
/since our quarrel ; however, I expeft to be recalled 
( every hour. 

Faulk. Why don't you persuade her to go off with 
you at once ? 

Abs. What, and lose two-thirds of her fortune ? you 
forget that, my friend. — No, no, I could have brought 
her to that long ago. ) 

Faulk. Nay theTrfJ^u trifle too long — if you are sure 
of her^ propose to the aunt in your own character, and 
write to Sir Anthony for his consent. '^- 
- - Abs. Softly, softly; for though I am convinced my 
little Lydia would elope with me as Ensign Beverley, 
yet I am by no means certain that she would take me 
with the impediment of our friends' consent, a regular 
humdrum wedding, and the reversion of a good fortune 
on my side : no, no ; I must prepare her gradually for 
the discovery, and make myself necessary to her, before 

[27] 



The Rivals 

I risk it. — Well, but Faulkland, you'll dine with us 
to-day at the hotel ? 

Faulk. Indeed I cannot ; I am not in spirits to be of 
such a party. ^" ' 

Jbs. By heavens! I shall forswear your company. 
You are the most teasing, captious, incorrigible lover! 
— Do love like a man. ^J:' 

/Faulk. I own I am unfit for company. 
! Abs. Am not / a Ipver ; ay, and a romantic one, too? 
Yet do I carry everywhere with me such a confounded 
farrago of doubts, fears, hopes, wishes, and all the flimsy 
furniture of a country miss's brain! 

Faulk. Ah ! Jack, your heart and soul are not, like 
mine, fixed immutably on one only obje6t. You throw 
for a large stake, but losing, you could stake and throw 
again: — but I have set my sum of happiness on this 
cast, and not to succeed were to be stripped of all. 

Abs. But, for Heaven's sake ! what grounds for ap- 
prehension can your whimsical brain conjure up at 
present ? 
A^'^" Faulk. What grounds for apprehension, did you say? 
Heavens! are there not a thousand ! I fear for her spirits 
— her health — her life. — My absence may fret her; her 
anxiety for my return, her fears for me, may oppress 
her gentle temper : and for her health, does not every 
hour bring me cause to be alarmed ? If it rains, some 
shower may even then have chilled her delicate frame! 
If the wind be keen, some rude blast may have afiPedled 
her ! The heat of noon, the dews of the evening, may 
endanger the life of her, for whom only I value mine. 

[ 28] 



Aa Second 

O Jack ! when delicate and feeling souls are separated, 
there is not a feature in the sky, not a movement of the 
elements, not an aspiration of the breeze, but hints 
some cause for a lover's apprehension ! /2ei-^ i' 
L Abs. Ay, but we may choose whether we will take 
the hint or not. — So, then, Faulkland, if you were con- 
vinced that Julia were well and in spirits, you would be 
entirely content? 

^ Faulk. I should be happy beyond measure — I am anx- 
ious only for that. 

Ahs. Then to cure your anxiety at once — Miss Mel- 
ville is in perfe6l health, and is at this moment in Bath. 

Faulk. Nay, Jack — don't trifle with me. 

Ahs. She is arrived here with my father within this 
hour. 

Faulk. Can you be serious? 

Ahs. I thought you knew Sir Anthony better than to 
be surprised at a sudden whim of this kind. — Seriously, 
then, it is as I tell you — upon my honour. 

Faulk. My dear friend! — Hollo, Du-Peigne! my 
hat. — My dear Jack — now nothing on earth can give 
me a moment's uneasiness. [_ 

Reenter Fag 

Fag. Sir, Mr. Acres, just arrived, is below. 

Ahs. Stay, Faulkland ; this Acres lives within a mile 
of Sir Anthony, and he shall tell you how your mistress 
has been ever since you left her. — Fag, show the gen- 
tleman up. d^^^^* Jk-^ [^A-zV Fag 

i^^«/>rWhaf, is he much acquainted in the family? 

[ 29] 



The Rivals 

Abs. Oh, very intimate : I insist on your not going : 
besides, his charafter will divert you. 

Faulk. Well, I should like to ask him a few questions. ' 

Abs. He is likewise a rival of mine — that is, of my ~"' 
other selfsy for he does not think his friend Captain 
Absolute ever saw the lady in question; and it is ridicu- 
lous enough to hear him complain to me of one Bever- 
ley^ a concealed skulking rival, who — 

Faulk. Hush! — he's here. 

Enter Acres 

Acres. Ha! my dear friend, noble captain, and honest 
Jack, how do'st thou? just arrived, faith, as you see. — 
Sir, your humble servant. — Warm work on the roads, 
Jack! — Odds whips and wheels! I've travelled like a 
comet, with a tail of dust all the way as long as the 
Mall. 

Abs. Ah ! Bob, you are indeed an eccentric planet, but 
we know your attra6lion hither. — Give me leave to 
introduce Mr. Faulkland to you ; Mr. Faulkland, Mr. 
Acres. 

Acres. Sir, I am most heartily glad to see you : sir, I 
solicit your connexions. — Hey, Jack — what, this is 
Mr. Faulkland, who — 

/< Abs. Ay, Bob, Miss Melville's Mr. Faulkland. 

t\ Acres. Odso! she and your father can be but just ar- 

.riv^d. before me : — I suppose you have seen them,, Ah! 

Mr. Faulkland, you are indeed a happy man. ^ /^X<l 

^ Faulk. I have not seen Miss Melville yet, sir; — I 

hope she enjoyed full health and spirits in Devonshire? 

Acres. Never knew her better in my life, sir, — never 

[30] 



1H4 1*^'^ 



Ad Second 

better. Odds blushes and blooms! she has been as healthy 
as the German Spa. 

Faulk. Indeed! — I did hear that she had been a little 
indisposed. 
, ^ jM' Acres. False, false, sir — only said to vex you: quite 
''^- ' the reverse, I assure you. 

Fau/k. There Jack, you see she has the advantage of 
me; I had almost fretted myself ill. 
r Jbs. Novvr are you angry with your mistress for not 
having been sick ? 

Faulk. No, no, you misunderstand me : yet surely a 
little trifling indisposition is not an unnatural conse- 
quence of absence from those we love. — Now confess 
— isn't there something unkind in this violent, robust, 
unfeeling health ? 
y Jbs. Oh, it was very unkind of her to be well in your 

absence, to be sure ! 

Jcres. Good apartments, Jack. 
,, Faulk. Well, sir, but you were saying that Miss Mel- 
ville has been so exceedingly well — what then, she has 
been merry and gay, I suppose? — Always in spirits — 
hey? 

Acres. Merry, odds crickets! she has been the belle 
and spirit of the company wherever she has been — so 
lively and entertaining! so full of wit and humour! 

Faulk. There, Jack, there. — Oh, by my soul! there 
is an innate levity in woman, that nothing can over- 
come. — What! happy, and I away! 

Ahs. Have done! How foolish this is! just now you 
were only apprehensive for your mistress's spirits. 

[31 ] 






The Rivals 

Faulk. Why, Jack, have I been the joy and spirit of 
the company? 

Abs. No indeed, you have not. 
, Faulk. Have I been lively and entertaining? 
Abs. Oh, upon my word, I acquit you. 
' Faulk. Have I been full of wit and humour ? 
Abs. No, faith, to do you justice, you have been con- 
foundedly stupid indeed. 

Acres. What 's the matter with the gentleman ? 
Abs. He is only expressing his great satisfaction at 
earing that Julia has been so well and happy — that's 
all — hey, Faulkland? 
L. Faulk. Oh! I am rejoiced to hear it — yes, yes, she 

has a happy disposition! 
'^ < Acres. That she has indeed — then she is so accom- 
plished — so sweet a voice — so expert at her harpsi- 
chord — such a mistress of flat and sharp, squallante, 
rumblante,andquiverante! — There was this time month 
— Odds minims and crotchets I how^she did chirrup at 
Mrs. Piano's concert! -T l' 

.-'F'aulk. There again, what say you to this ? you see 
^be has been all mirth and song — not a thought of me! 
i Abs. Pho ! man, is not music the food of love ? 

Faulk. Well, well, it may be so. — Pray, Mr. , 



what's his damned name? — Do you remember what 
songs Miss Melville sung? 

Acres. Not I indeed. 

Abs. Stay, now, they were some pretty melancholy 
purling-stream airs, I warrant ; perhaps you may recol- 

[32] 



Ad Second 

le6l; — did she sing, When absent from my souFs delight? 

Acres. No, that wa'n't it. 

Abs. Or, G(?, gentle gales! — Go^ gentle gales I 

[Sings 

Acres. Oh, no! nothing like it. Odds! now I recolleft 
one of them — My hearths my own^ my will is free. 

\^ings 

Faulk. Fool! fool that I am! to fix all my happiness 
on such a trifler! 'Sdeath! to make herself the pipe and 
ballad-monger of a circle! to soothe her light heart with 
--$•/ fi catches and glees! — What can you say to this, sir ? 

Abs. Why, that I should be glad to hear my mistress 
had been so merry, sir. 

Faulk, Nay, nay, nay — I'm not sorry that she has 
been happy — no, no, I am glad of that — I would not 
have had her sad or sick — yet surely a sympathetic heart 
would soon have shown itself even in the choice of a 
song — she might have been temperately healthy, and 
somehow, plaintively gay; — but she has been dancing 
too, I doubt not! 
ikA- Acres. What does the gentleman say about dancing ? 

Abs. He says the lady we speak of dances as well as 
she sings. 

Acres, Ay, truly, does she — there was at our last race 
ball — . ^ ' y ^^ ' % 

Faulk. Hell and the devil! There! there — I told you 
so! I told you so! Oh! she thrives in my absence! — 
Dancing! but her whole feelings have been in opposi- 
tion with mine; — I have been anxious, silent, pensive, 
sedentary — my days have been hours of care, my nights 

[33] 



The Rivals 

of watchfulness. — She has been all health! spirit! laugh 1 
song! dance! — Oh! damned, damned levity! 

Jbs. For Heaven's sake, Faulkland, don't expose your- 
self so! — Suppose she has danced, what then? — does 
not the ceremony of society often oblige — 

Faulk, Well, well, I'll contain myself — perhaps as 
you say — for form sake. — What, Mr. Acres, you were 
praising Miss Melville's manner of dancing a minuet — 
hey? 

Acres. Oh, I dare insure her for that — but what I was 
going to speak of was her country-dancing. Odds swim- 
mings ! she has such an air with her ! 

Faulk. Now disappointment on her! — Defend this. 
Absolute; why don't you defend this? — Country-dances! 
jigs and reels! am I to blame now? A minuet I could 
have forgiven — I should not have minded that — I say 
I should not have regarded a minuet — but country- 
dances! — Zounds! had she made one in a cotillon — I be- 
lieve I could have forgiven even that — but to be monkey- 
led for a night! — to run the gauntlet through a string 
of amorous palming puppies ! — to show paces like a man- 
aged filly! — Oh, Jack, there never can be but one man 
in the world whom a truly modest and delicate woman 
ought to pair with in a country-dance ; and, even then, the 
rest of the couples should be her great-uncles and aunts! 

Abs. Ay, to be sure! grandfathers and grandmothers! 

Faulk. If there be but one vicious mind in the set 
'twill spread like a contagion — the adion of their pulse 
beats to the lascivious movement of the jig — their quiv- 
ering, warm-breathed sighs impregnate the very air — the 

[34] 






** My hair has been in training for some time " 



•i-ir^il 'i??^^'- "^v\ "^\^\•\\Ui'♦^ ^\ ^v"i 



Ad Second 

atmosphere becomes eleftrical to love, and each amo- 
rous spark darts through every link of the chain! — I must 
leave you — I ow^n I am somewhat flurried — and that 
confounded looby has perceived it. [Going f' 

Abs. Nay, but stay, Faulkland, and thank Mr. Acres ^^ 
for his good nev^^s. 

Faulk. Damn his nev^s! V^^^^ l^^tJ 

Abs. Ha ! ha ! ha ! poor Faulkland, five minutes since — ' 
"nothing on earth could give him a moment's uneasi- 
ness!" 

Acres. The gentleman wa'n't angry at my praising 
his mistress, was he? _,^v..4',.i^<,r_ <. 
■ Abs. A little jealous, I believe, Bob. 

Acres. You don't say so? Ha! ha! jealous of me — 
that's a good joke. 

Abs. There's nothing strange in that, Bob; let me 
tell you, that sprightly grace and insinuating manner of 
yours will do some mischief among the girls here. 

Acres. Ah! you joke — ha! ha! mischief! — ha! ha! 
but you know I am not my own property; my dear 
Lydia has forestalled me. She could never abide me in 
the country, because I used to dress so badly — but 
odds fro2:s and tambours! I shan't take matters so here, 
now ancient madam has no voice in it : I '11 make my 
old clothes know who's master. I shall straightway 
cashier the hunting-frock, and render my leather breeches 
incapable. My hair has been in training some time. 

Abs. Indeed ! 
p jv:^^ Acres. Ay — and thofFthe side curls are a little restive, 
my hind-part takes it very kindly. 

[35] 



/ The Rivals 

w Abs. Oh, you'll polish, I doubt not. 
^ i- Acres, Absolutely I propose so — then if I can find 
out this Ensign Beverley, odds triggers and flints! I'll 
make him know the difference o't. 
^ Abs. Spoke like a man ! But pray, Bob, I observe you 
have got an odd kind of a new method of swearing — 

Acres. Ha! ha! you've taken notice of it — 'tis gen- 
teel, isn't it? — I didn't invent it myself, though; but 
a commander in our militia, a great scholar, I assure 
you, says that there is no meaning in the common 
oaths, and that nothing but their antiquity makes them 
respectable ; — because, he says, the ancients would never 
stick to an oath or two, but would say, by Jove! or by 
Bacchus! or by Mars! or by Venus! or by Pallas! ac- 
cording to the sentiment : so that to swear with propri- 
ety, says my little major, the oath should be an echo to 
the sense ; and this we call the oath referential or senti- 
mental swearing — ha! ha! 'tis genteel, isn't it? 

Abs. Very genteel, and very new, indeed! — and I 
dare say will supplant all other figures of imprecation. 

Acres. Ay, ay, the best terms will grow obsolete. — 
Damns have had their day. 

Reenter Fag 

Fag. Sir, there is a gentleman below desires to see 
you. — Shall I show him into the parlour? 

Abs. Ay — you may. 

Acres. Well, I must be gone — 

Abs. Stay ; who is it, Fag ? 

Fag. Your father, sir. 

[36] 



AS: Second 

Jbs. You puppy, why did n't you show him up di- 
reaiy ? [Exit Fag 

hA\ip/icres, You have business with Sir Anthony. — I ex- 
^ ' ped: a message from Mrs. Malaprop at my lodgings. I 
have sent also to my dear friend Sir Lucius O'Trigger. 
Adieu, Jack ! we must meet at night, when you shall 
give me a dozen bumpers to little Lydia. v 

Abs. That I will with all my heart. — [Exit Acres.] ,,^ .; ^ 
Now for a parental lefture — I hope he has heard no- 
thing of the business that has brought me here — I wish 
the gout had held him fast in Devonshire, with all my 
soul ! - 

Enter Sir Anthony Absolute 
Sir, I am delighted to see you here: looking so well! 
your sudden arrival at Bath made me apprehensive for 
your health. 

Sir Jnth. Very apprehensive, I dare say. Jack. — 
What, you are recruiting here, hey ? 

Jbs. Yes, sir, I am on duty. 

Sir Anth. Well, Jack, I am glad to see you, though 
I did not expe6l it, for Lvk^ goinff to write you on a 
little matter of business.-^ Jack, I have been considering 
that I grow old and infirm, and shall probably not trou- 
ble you long. 
A* c Abs. Pardon me, sir, I never saw you look more 
strong and hearty; and I pray frequently that you may 
continue so. 

Sir Anth. I hope your prayers may be heard, with all 
my heart. Well then. Jack, I have been considering that 
I am so strong and hearty I may continue to plague you 
■^ [ 37 ] 



The Rivals 

a long time. — Now, Jack, I am sensible that the in- 
come of your commission, and what I have hitherto al- 
lowed you, is but a small pittance for a lad of your spirit. 
/. Abs, Sir, you are very good. 

Sir Anth, And it is my wish, while yet I live, to have 
my boy make some figure in the world. I have resolved, , 

therefore, to fix you at once in a noble independence. "J^-;- ^' 

Abs. Sir, your kindness overpowers me — such gen-^- 
erosity makes the gratitude of reason more lively than 
the sensations even of filial afFeftion. 

Sir Anth. I am glad you are so sensible of my atten- 
tion — and you shall be master of a large estate in a few 
weeks. 

Abs. Let my future life, sir, speak my gratitude; I 
cannot express the sense I have of your munificence. — 
Yet, sir, I presume you would not wish me to quit the 
army ? 

Sir Anth. Oh, that shall be as your wife chooses. 

Abs. My wife, sir! 

Sir Anth. Ay, ay, settle that between you — settle 
that between you. 

Abs. A wifcy sir, did you say ? 

Sir Anth. Ay, a wife — why, did not I mention her 
before ? 

Abs. Not a word of her, sir. 

Sir Anth, Odd so ! — I must n't forget her^ though. — 
Yes, Jack, the independence I was talking of is by mar- 
riage — the fortune is saddled with a wife — but I sup- 
pose that makes no difference. 

[ 38 ] 



Ad Second 

ly^ Ah. Sir! sir! — you amaze me! 

Sir Anth. Why, what the devil's the matter with the 
fool ? Just now you were all gratitude and duty. 

Jbs. I was, sir, — you talked to me of independence 
and a fortune, but not a word of a wife. 

Sir Anth. Why — what difference does that make? 
Odds life, sir! if you have the estate, you must take it 
with the live-stock on it, as it stands. 

Jbs. If my happiness is to be tjje. prix:e, I must beg 
leave to decline the purchase. ^^ Pray, sir, who is the 
lady? 

(! Sir Anth. What's that to you, sir? Come, give me 
your promise to love, and to marry her diredlly. 
^ . Abs. Sure, sir, this is not very reasonable to summon 
my affe6tions for a lady I know nothing of! 

Sir Anth, I am sure, sir, 't is more unreasonable in 
you to object to a lady you know nothing of. 

Abs. Then, sir, I must tell you plainly that my in- 
clinations are fixed on another — my heart is engaged 
to an angel. ^^ -^ 

Sir Anth. Then pray let it send an excuse. It is very 
sorry — but business prevents its waiting on her. 

Abs. But my vows are pledged to her. 

Sir Anth. Let her foreclose. Jack; let her foreclose; 
they are not worth redeeming; besides, you have the 
angel's vows in exchange, I suppose; so there can be 
no loss there. 

Abs. You must excuse me, sir, if I tell you, once for 
all, that in this point I cannot obey you. / / 

Sir Anth. Hark'ee, Jack; — I have heard you for 
[ 39] 



The Rivals 

some time with patience — I have been cool — quite 
cool; but take care — you know I am compliance it- 
self — when I am not thwarted ; — no one more easily 
led — when I have my own way; — but don't put me 
in a frenzy. 

/R^ Abs. Sir, I must repeat it — in this I cannot obey you. 
Sir Anth. Now damn m^! if ever I call you Jack 
again while I live! ^' -^^ /- 
OrA./><> Ahs. Nay, sir, but hear me. 

" Sir Anth. Sir, I won't hear a word — not a word! 
not one word! so give me your promise by a nod — 
and I'll tell you what, Jack — I mean, you dog — if 
you don't, by — 

" Ahs. What, sir, promise to link myself to some mass 
of ugliness! to — 
^ Sir Anth. Zounds! sirrah! the lady shall be as ugly 
as I choose: she shall have a hump on each shoulder! 
she shall be as crooked as the Crescent ; her one eye shall 
roll like the bull's in Cox's Museum; she shall have a 
skin like a mummy, and the beard of a Jew — she shall 
be all this, sirrah! — yet I will make you ogle her all 
day, and sit up all night to write sonnets on her beauty. 

Ahs. This is reason and moderation indeed ! (j^ j£#<*^ ^ ^ 
Sir Anth. None of your sneering, puppy ! no grin- 
ning, jackanapes! 

Ahs. Indeed, sir, I never was in a worse humour for 
mirth in my life. 
C^\^^'' Sir Anth. 'Tis false, sir; I know you are laughing 
U 't-</*"» jfj yQ^j sleeve ; I know you'll grin when I am gone, 
sirrah ! 

[40] 



■Hr^^i 



** fFh^jf, sir, promise to lt?ik myself to some mass of 
ugliness! ' ' 



A& Second 

yfbs. Sir, I hope I know my duty better. /^ ^ 

Sir Anth. None of your passion, sir! none of your 
violence, if you please! — It won't do with me, I promise 
you. 

jibs. Indeed, sir, I never was cooler in my life. 

Sir Anth. 'Tis a confounded lie! — I know you are 
in a passion in your heart ; I know you are, you hypo- 
critical young dog! but it won't do. 

Abs. Nay, sir, upon my word — 

Sir Anth, So you will fly out! can't you be cool like 
me? What the devil good can passion do? — Passion is 
of no service, you impudent, insolent, overbearing re- 
probate! — There, you sneer again! — don't provoke 
me! — but you rely upon the mildness of my temper — 
you do, you dog ! you play upon the meekness of my 
disposition! — Yet take care — the patience of a saint 
may be overcome at last! — but mark! I give you six 
hours and a half to consider of this : if you then agree, 
without any condition, to do everything on earth that 
I choose, why — confound you! I may in time forgive 
you. — If not, zounds! don't enter the same hemisphere 
with me! don't dare to breathe the same air or use the 
same light with me; but get an atmosphere and sun of 
your own! I'll strip you of your commission ; I'll lodge 
a five-and-threepence in the hands of trustees, and you 
shall live on the interest. — I'll disown you, I'll disin- 
herit you, I '11 unget you ! and damn me ! if ever I call 
you Jack again ! v 

Abs, Mild, gentle, considerate father — I kiss youf 
hands! — What a tender method of giving his opinion 

[41 ] 



r ever 1 call 

[Exit f\ p 
I kiss vour ^ 



The Rivals 

in these matters Sir Anthony has! I dare not trust him 
with the truth. — I wonder what old wealthy hag it is 
that he wants to bestow on me! — Yet he married him- 
self for love ! and was in his youth a bold intriguer, and 
a gay companion ! 

Reenter Fag 

Fag, Assuredly, sir, your father is wrath to a degree ; 
he comes down-stairs eight or ten steps at a time — 
muttering, growling, and thumping the banisters all the 
way : I and the cook's dog stand bowing at the door — 
rapl he gives me a stroke on the head with his cane; 
bids me carry that to my master; then kicking the poor 
turnspit into the area, damns us all, for a puppy trium- 
virate! — Upon my credit, sir, were I in your place, and 
found my father such very bad company, I should cer- 
tainly drop his acquaintance. 

Abs. Cease your impertinence, sir, at present. — Did 
you come in for nothing more? — Stand out of the 
way. \_Pushes him aside^ and exit 

Fag. Soh! Sir Anthony trims my master: he is afraid 
to reply to his father — then vents his spleen on poor 
Fag! — When one is vexed by one person, to revenge 
one's self on another, who happens to come in the way, 
is the vilest injustice! Ah! it shows the worst temper 
— the basest — 

Enter Errand Boy 

Boy. Mr. Fag! Mr. Fag! your master calls you. 

Fag. Well, you little dirty puppy, you need not bawl 
so! — The meanest disposition! the — 

Boy. Quick, quick, Mr. Fag! 

[42] 



AS: Second 

Fag. Quick! quick! you impudent jackanapes! am I 
to be commanded by you too? you little impertinent, 
insolent, kitchen-bred — 

\_Exity kicking and beating him 



Scene II : The North Parade 
Enter Lucy 

Lucy. So — I shall have another rival to add to my mis- 
tress's list — Captain Absolute. How^ever, I shall not 
enter his name till my purse has received notice in form. 
Poor Acres is dismissed! — Well, I have done him a last 
friendly office, in letting him knov^^ that Beverley was 
here before him. — Sir Lucius is generally more punftual, 
when he experts to hear from his dear Dalia^ as he calls 
her: I wonder he's not here!. — I l^^ave a little scruple 
of conscience from this deceit; though L^hould not be 
paid so well, if my hero knew that Delia was'Tnear fifty, 
and her own mistress. 

Enter Sir Lucius O'Trigger 

Sir Luc. Ha! my little ambassadress — upon my con- 
science, I have been looking for you ; I have been on 
the South Parade this half hour. 

Lucy. [Speaking simply.'] O Gemini! and I have been 
waiting for your worship here on the North. 

Sir Luc. Faith! may be that was the reason we did 
not meet ; and it 's very comical too, how you could go 
out and I not see you — for I was only taking a nap at 
the Parade Coffee-house, and I chose the window on 
purpose that I might not miss you. 
[43] 



The Rivals 

Lucy. My stars! Now IM wager a sixpence I went 
by while you were asleep. 

Sir Luc. Sure enough, it must have been so — and I 
never dreamt it was so late, till I waked. Well, but my 
girl, have you got nothing for me? 

Lucy. Yes, but I have — I've got a letter for you in 
my pocket. 

Sir Luc. Oh, faith ! I guessed you were n't come empty- 
handed — well — let me see what the dear creature says. 

Lucy. There, Sir Lucius. [Gives him a letter 

Sir Luc. \^Reads.^ Sir — there is often a sudden incentive 
impulse in love, that has a greater indu^ion than years of 
domestic combination : such was the commotion I felt at the 
first superfluous view of Sir Lucius O^ Trigger, — Very 
pretty, upon my word, — Female punSfuation forbids me 
to say morey yet let me add^ that it will give me joy infal- 
lible to find Sir Lucius worthy the last criterion of my 
affeSiions. ^^^^^ 

Upon my conscience! Lucy, your lady is a great mis- 
tress of language. Faith, she's quite the queen of the 
diftionary! — for the devil a word dare refuse coming to 
her call — though one would think it was quite out of 
hearing. 

Lucy. Ay, sir, a lady of her experience — 

Sir Luc. Experience ? what, at seventeen ? 

Lucy. Oh, true, sir — but then she reads so — my 
stars! how she will read offhand! 

Sir Luc. Faith she must be very deep read to write 
this way^ — though she is rather an arbitrary writer too 

[44] 



"^%% 




" Take a kiss beforehand to put you in mind' 



dreamt i 
'lave you 
■y. Yes, 1 

; jxocket. 

Sir Luc. Oh 



Drettv, upon r 



H it wtil give rru 



W\x^ t\x KJiv \vi(S, Q\ ^w;i5^'i-^*\^^ lui V. ^^^Tt »» 



AS: Second 

— for here are a great many poor words pressed into 
the service of this note that would get their habeas cor- 
pus from any court in Christendom. 

Lucy. Ah ! Sir Lucius, if you were to hear how she 
talks of you! 

Sir Luc. Oh, tell her Pll make her the best husband 
in the world, and Lady O'Trigger into the bargain] — 
But we must get the old gentlewoman's consent — and 
do everything fairly. 

Lucy. Nay, Sir Lucius, I thought you wa'n't rich 
enough to be so nice! 

Sir Luc. Upon my word, young woman, you have 
hit it : — I am so poor, that I can't afford to do a dirty 
aftion. — If I did not want money, I'd steal your mis- 
tress and her fortune with a great deal of pleasure. — 
However, my pretty girl, [gives her money'\ here's a little 
something to buy you a ribbon ; and meet me in the 
evening, and Pll give you an answer to this. So, hussy, 
take a kiss beforehand to put you in mind. [Kisses her 

Lucy. O Lud! Sir Lucius — I never seed such a gem- 
man. My lady won't like you if you're so impudent. 

Sir Luc. Faith she will, Lucy! — That same— pho! 
what's the name of it? — modesty — is a quality in a 
lover more praised by the women than liked ; so, if your 
mistress asks jyou whether Sir Lucius ever gave you a 
kiss, tell her fifty — my dear. 

Lucy. What, would you have me tell her a lie? 

Sir Luc. Ah, then, you baggage! Pll make it a truth 
presently. 

Lucy. For shame now ! here is some one coming. 
[45 ] 



The Rivals 

Sir Luc. Oh, faith, PU quiet your conscience! 

[Sees Fag. — Exit, humming a tune 

Enter Fag 

Fag. So, so, ma'am ! I humbly beg pardon. 

Lucy. O Lud ! now, Mr. Fag — you flurry one so. 

Fag. Come, come, Lucy, here's no one by — so a 
h'ttle less simplicity, with a grain or two more sincerity, 
if you please. — You play false with us, madam. — I 
saw you give the baronet a letter. — My master shall 
know this — and if he don't call him out, I will. 

Lucy. Ha ! ha ! ha ! you gentlemen's gentlemen are 
so hasty. — That letter was from Mrs. Malaprop, sim- 
pleton. — She is taken with Sir Lucius's address. 

Fag. How ! what tastes some people have ! — Why, I 
suppose I have walked by her window a hundred times. 
— But what says our young lady? any message to my 
master ? 

Lucy. Sad news, Mr. Fag. — A worse rival than 
Acres ! Sir Anthony Absolute has proposed his son. 

Fag. What, Captain Absolute? 

Lucy. Even so — I overheard it all. 

Fag. Ha ! ha ! ha ! very good, faith. Good-by, Lucy ; 
I must away with this news. 

Lucy. Well, you may laugh — but it is true, I assure 
you. — [Going.^ But, Mr. Fag, tell your master not to 
be cast down by this. 

Fag. Oh, he'll be so disconsolate! 

Lucy. And charge him not to think of quarrelling 
with young Absolute. 

[46] 



Ad Second 

Fag. Never fear ! never fear ! 

Lucy. Be sure — bid him keep up his spirits. 

Fag. We will— we will. \Exeunt severally 



[47 ] 



^ - . 



Aa III 

Scene I : The North Parade 

Enter Captain Absolute 

ABS. 'T IS just as Fag told me, indeed. Whimsical 
. enough, faith! My father wants to force me to 
marry the very girl I am plotting to run away with ! He 
must not know of my connection with her yet awhile. 
He has too summary a method of proceeding in these 
matters. However, I '11 read my recantation instantly. My 
conversion is something sudden, indeed — but I can as- 
sure him it is very sincere. So, so — here he comes. He 
looks plaguy gruff. \_Steps aside 

Enter Sir Anthony Absolute 
Sir Anth. No, I '11 die sooner than forgive him. Die, 
did I say? I'll live these fifty years to plague him. At 
our last meeting, his impudence had almost put me out 
of temper. An obstinate, passionate, self-willed boy! 
Who can he take after? This is my return for getting 
him before all his brothers and sisters! — for putting him, 
at twelve years old, into a marching regiment, and al- 
lowing him fifty pounds a year, besides his pay, ever 
since! But I have done with him; he's anybody's son 
for me. I never will see him more, never — never — 
never. 

Abs. [Aside, coming forward.] Now for a penitential 
face. 

Sir Jnth, Fellow, get out of my way ! 

[49] 



The Rivals 

Jbs, Sir, you see a penitent before you.. 

Sir Anth. I see an impudent scoundrel before me. 

Ahs. A sincere penitent. I am come, sir, to acknow- 
ledge my error, and to submit entirely to your will. 

Sir Anth. What's that? 

Ahs. I have been revolving, and reflecting, and con- 
sidering on your past goodness, and kindness, and con- 
descension to me. 

Sir Anth. Well, sir? 

Abs. I have been likewise weighing and balancing 
what you were pleased to mention concerning duty, and 
obedience, and authority. 

Sir Anth. Well, puppy ? 

Ahs. Why then, sir, the result of my reflexions is — 
a resolution to sacrifice every inclination of my own to 
your satisfaction. 

Sir Anth. V<f\\y^ now you talk sense — absolute sense — 
I never heard anything more sensible in my life. Con- 
found you ! you shall be Jack again. 

Ahs, I am happy in the appellation. 

Sir Anth. Why, then. Jack, my dear Jack, I will now 
inform you who the lady really is. Nothing but your 
passion and violence, you silly fellow, prevented my tell- 
ing you at first. Prepare, Jack, for wonder and rapture — 
prepare. What think you of Miss Lydia Languish ? 

Ahs. Languish 1 What, the Languishes of Worcester- 
shire ? 

Sir Anth. Worcestershire ! no. Did you never meet 
Mrs. Malaprop and her niece. Miss Languish, who came 

[50] 



Aa Third 

into our country just before you were last ordered to 
your regiment? 

Jhs. Malaprop ! Languish ! I don't remember ever to 
have heard the names before. Yet, stay — I think I do 
recolle6l something. Languish! Languish! She squints, 
don't she ? A h'ttle red-haired girl ? 

Sir Jnth. Squints! a red-haired girl! Zounds! no. 

Abs. Then I must have forgot; it can't be the same 
person. 

Sir Jnth. Jack! Jack! what think you of blooming, 
love-breathing seventeen ? 

Abs. As to that, sir, I am quite indifferent. If I can 
please you in the matter, 'tis all I desire. 

Sir Anth. Nay, but. Jack, such eyes! such eyes! so in- 
nocently wild ! so bashfully irresolute ! not a glance but 
speaks and kindles some thought of love! Then, Jack, 
her cheeks! her cheeks. Jack! so deeply blushing at the 
insinuations of her tell-tale eyes! Then, Jack, her lips! 
O Jack, lips smiling at their own discretion ; and if not 
smiling, more sweetly pouting ; more lovely in sullen- 
ness! 

Abs. That's she indeed. Well done, old gentleman. 

[Aside 

Sir Anth. Then, Jack, her neck! O Jack! Jack! 

Abs. And which is to be mine, sir, the niece or the 
aunt ? 

Sir Anth. Why, you unfeeling, insensible puppy, I de- 
spise you! When I was of your age, such a description 
would have made me fly like a rocket! The aunt, indeed ! 
Odds life! when I ran away with your mother, I would 

[51 ] 



The Rivals 

not have touched anything old or ugly to gain an empire. 

Abs. Not to please your father, sir ? 

Sir Anth. To please my father ! zounds ! not to please 
— Oh, my father — odd so! — yes — yes; if my father in- 
deed had desired — that's quite another matter. Though 
he wa'n't the indulgent father that I am. Jack. 

Abs. I dare say not, sir. 

Sir Anth. But, Jack, you are not sorry to find your 
mistress is so beautiful ? 

Abs. Sir, I repeat it — if I please you in this affair, 
'tis all I desire. Not that I think a woman the worse 
for being handsome; but, sir, if you please to recolleft, 
you before hinted something about a hump or two, one 
eye, and a few more graces of that kind — now, with- 
out being very nice, I own I should rather choose a wife 
of mine to have the usual number of limbs, and a lim- 
ited quantity of back ; and though one eye may be very 
agreeable, yet as the prejudice has always run in favour 
of two, I would not wish to aifecSt a singularity in that 
article. 

Sir Anth. What a phlegmatic sot it is! Why, sirrah, 
you're an anchorite! — a vile, insensible stock. You a 
soldier! — you're a walking block, fit only to dust the 
company's regimentals on! Odds life! I have a great 
mind to marry the girl myself. 

Abs. I am entirely at your disposal, sir: if you should 
think of addressing Miss Languish yourself, I suppose 
you would have me marry the aunt; or if you should 
change your mind and take the old lady — 't is the same 
to me — I '11 marry the niece. 

[52 ] 



Adt Third 

Sir Anth. Upon my word, Jack, thou'rt either a very- 
great hypocrite, or — but come, I know your indiffer- 
ence on such a subjeft must be all a lie — Pm sure it 
must — come, now — damn your demure face! — come, 
confess. Jack — you have been lying — ha'n't you? 
You have been playing the hypocrite, hey! — I'll never 
forgive you, if you ha'n't been lying and playing the 
hypocrite. 

Abs. Pm sorry, sir, that the respedl and duty which I 
bear to you should be so mistaken. 

Sir Anth. Hang your respedl and duty! But come 
along with me; I'll write a note to Mrs. Malaprop, and 
you shall visit the lady direftly. Her eyes shall be the 
Promethean torch to you — come along; I'll never for- 
give you, if you don't come back stark mad with rap- 
ture and impatience — if you don't, egad, I will marry 
the girl myself! [Exeunt 



Scene II : Julia's Dressing-room 
Faulkland discovered alone 

Faulk. They told me Julia would return direftly; I 
wonder she is not yet come ! How mean does this cap- 
tious, unsatisfied temper of mine appear to my cooler 
judgment! Yet I know not that I indulge it in any 
other point ; but on this one subje6t, and to this one 
subje6t, whom I think I love beyond my life, I am 
ever ungenerously fretful and madly capricious! I am 
conscious of it — yet I cannot corre6l myself! What 
tender, honest joy sparkled in her eyes when we met! 

[ 53] 



The Rivals 

how delicate was the warmth of her expressions! I was 
ashamed to appear less happy — though I had come re- 
solved to wear a face of coolness and upbraiding. Sir An- 
thony's presence prevented my proposed expostulations: 
yet I must be satisfied that she has not been so very 
happy in my absence. She is coming! Yes! — I know 
the nimbleness of her tread, when she thinks her impa- 
tient Faulkland counts the moments of her stay. 

Enter Julia 

Jul. I had not hoped to see you again so soon. 

Faulk. Could I, Julia, be contented with my first wel- 
come — restrained as we were by the presence of a third 
person ? 

yuL O Faulkland, when your kindness can make me 
thus happy, let me not think that I discovered some- 
thing of coldness in your first salutation. 

Faulk. 'Twas but your fancy, Julia. I was rejoiced 
to see you — to see you in such health. Sure I had no 
cause for coldness ? 

yuL Nay, then, I see you have taken something ill. 
You must not conceal from me what it is. 

Faulk, Well, then, shall I own to you that my joy 
at hearing of your health and arrival here, by your neigh- 
bour Acres, was somewhat damped by his dwelling much 
on the high spirits you had enjoyed in Devonshire — 
on your mirth — your singing — dancing, and I know 
not what ? For such is my temper, Julia, that I should 
regard every mirthful moment in your absence as a 
treason to constancy. The mutual tear that steals down 
the cheek of parting lovers is a compaft that no smile 

[ 54] 



Aa Third 

shall live there till they meet again. 

yul. Must I never cease to tax my Faulkland w^ith 
this teasing minute caprice ? Can the idle reports of a 
silly boor w^eigh in your breast against my tried aflPec- 
tion ? 

Faulk. They have no w^eight w^ith me, Julia : no, no 
— I am happy if you have been so — yet only say that 
you did not sing with mirth — say that you thought of 
Faulkland in the dance. 

Jul. I never can be happy in your absence. If I vi^ear 
a countenance of content, it is to show that my mind 
holds no doubt of my Faulkland's truth. If I seemed sad, 
it were to make malice triumph; and say that I had 
fixed my heart on one who left me to lament his rov- 
ing and my own credulity. Believe me, Faulkland, I 
mean not to upbraid you when I say that I have often 
dressed sorrow in smiles, lest my friends should guess 
whose unkindness had caused my tears. 

Faulk. You were ever all goodness to me. Oh, I am 
a brute, when I but admit a doubt of your true con- 
stancy ! 

Jul. If ever without such cause from you, as I will 
not suppose possible, you find my afFe6tions veering but 
a point, may I become a proverbial scofF for levity and 
base ingratitude. 

Faulk. Ah ! Julia, that last word is grating to me. I 
would I had no title to your gratitude! Search your 
heart, Julia; perhaps what you have mistaken for love 
is but the warm effusion of a too thankful heart. 

Jul. For what quality must I love you? 

[ 55 ] 



The Rivals 

Faulk. For no quality ! To regard me for any quality 
of mind or understanding were only to esteem me. And 
for person — I have often wished myself deformed, to 
be convinced that I owed no obligation there for any 
part of your affedlion. 

yuL Where nature has bestowed a show of nice at- 
tention in the features of a man, he should laugh at it 
as misplaced. I have seen men, who in this vain article, 
perhaps, might rank above you ; but my heart has never 
asked my eyes if it were so or not. 

Faulk. Now this is not well from you, Julia — I de- 
spise person in a man — yet if you loved me as I wish, 
though I were an ^Ethiop, you'd think none so fair. 

Jul. I see you are determined to be unkind! The 
contract which my poor father bound us in gives you. 
more than a lover's privilege. 

Faulk. Again, Julia, you raise ideas that feed and 
justify my doubts. I would not have been more free — 
no — I am proud of my restraint. Yet — yet — perhaps 
your high respe6l alone for this solemn compa6l has 
fettered your inclinations, which else had made a wor- 
thier choice. How shall I be sure, had you remained un- 
bound in thought and promise, that I should still have 
been the obje6t of your persevering love? 

yul. Then try me now. Let us be free as strangers 
as to what is past: my heart will not feel more liberty! 

Faulk. There now! so hasty, Julia! so anxious to be 
free! If your love for me were fixed and ardent, you 
would not lose your hold even though I wished it! 

yul. Oh ! you torture me to the heart! I cannot bear it! 

[ 56] 



Ad Third 

Faulk, I do not mean to distress you. If I loved you 
less I should never give you an uneasy 'moment. But 
hear me. All my fretful doubts arise from this. Women 
are not used to weigh and separate the motives of their 
affections: the cold di6lates of prudence, gratitude, or 
filial duty may sometimes be mistaken for the pleadings 
of the heart. I would not boast — yet let me say that I 
have neither age, person, nor chara6ler to found dis- 
like on ; my fortune such as few ladies could be charged 
with indiscretion in the match. O Julia! when love re- 
ceives such countenance from prudence, nice minds will 
be suspicious of its birth. 

Jul. I know not whither your insinuations would 
tend : — but as they seem pressing to insult me, I will 
spare you the regret of having done so. I have given you 
no cause for this! \Exit in tears 

Faulk, In tears ! Stay, Julia : stay but for a moment. 
— The door is fastened! — Julia! — my soul! — but for 
one moment! — I hear her sobbing — 'Sdeath! — what 
a brute am I to use her thus! Yet stay. — Ay — she is 
coming now : — how little resolution there is in woman! 
— how a few soft words can turn them! — No, faith! — 
she is not coming either. — Why, Julia — my love — 
say but that you forgive me — come but to tell me that 
— now this is being too resentful. Stay! she is coming 
too — I thought she would — no steadiness in anything: 
her going away must have been a mere trick, then — 
she shan't see that I was hurt by it. — I'll affeft in- 
difference — [Hums a tune: then listens.^ No — zounds! 
she's not coming! — nor don't intend it, I suppose. — 

[57] 



The Rivals 

This is not steadiness, but obstinacy ! Yet I deserve it. 
— What, after so long an absence to quarrel with her 
tenderness! — 'twas barbarous and unmanly! I should 
be ashamed to see her now. — I '11 wait till her just re- 
sentment is abated — and when I distress her so again, 
may I lose her for ever! and be linked instead to some 
antique virago, whose gnawing passions and long-hoarded 
spleen shall make me curse my folly half the day and 
all the night. [Exit 



Scene III : Mrs. Malaprop's Lodgings 

Mrs. Malaprop, with a letter in her hand^ and Cap- 
tain Absolute 

Mrs. Mai. Your being Sir Anthony's son, captain, 
would itself be a sufficient accommodation ; but from 
the ingenuity of your appearance, I am convinced you 
deserve the chara6ler here given of you. 

Abs. Permit me to say, madam, that as I never yet 
have had the pleasure of seeing Miss Languish, my 
principal inducement in this affair at present is the hon- 
our of being allied to Mrs. Malaprop, of whose intel- 
le6lual accomplishments, elegant manners, and unaf- 
fected learning, no tongue is silent. 

Mrs. Mai. Sir, you do me infinite honour! I beg, cap- 
tain, you'll be seated. — \T^hey 5/V.] Ah ! few gentlemen, 
now-a-days, know how to value the ineffeftual quali- 
ties in a woman ! few think how a little knowledge be- 
comes a gentlewoman! — Men have no sense now but 
for the worthless flower of beauty ! 

[58] 



m 



He is the very pine-apple of politeness 



m«^Vu.,^> 'i\,5^<^;,-MU<^ VVV3 '.^^ u %H 



Adt Third 

Jbs. It is but too true, indeed, ma'am; — yet I fear 
our ladies should share the blame — they think our ad- 
miration of beauty so great that knowledge in them 
would be superfluous. Thus, like garden-trees, they sel- 
dom show fruit till time has robbed them of the more 
specious blossom. — Few, like Mrs. Malaprop and the 
orange-tree, are rich in both at once! 

Mrs, MaL Sir, you overpower me with good breed- 
ing. — He is the very pine-apple of politeness! You are 
not ignorant, captain, that this giddy girl has somehow 
contrived to fix her affeftions on a beggarly, strolling, 
eaves-dropping ensign, whom none of us have seen, and 
nobody knows anything of. 

Abs. Oh, I have heard the silly affair before. — I'm 
not at all prejudiced against her on that account. 

Mrs. MaL You are very good and very considerate, 
captain. I am sure I have done everything in my power 
since I exploded the affair ; long ago I laid my positive 
conjun6lions on her, never to think on the fellow again ; 
— I have since laid Sir Anthony's preposition before her ; 
but I am sorry to say she seems resolved to decline every 
particle that I enjoin her. 

Abs. It must be very distressing, indeed, ma'am. 

Mrs, Mai. Oh, it gives me the hydrostatics to such 
a degree. — I thought she had persisted from correspond- 
ing with him ; but, behold, this very day, I have inter- 
ceded another letter from the fellow ; I believe I have 
it in my pocket. 

Abs. Oh, the devil! my last note. [Aside 

Mrs. Mai. Ay, here it is. 

[59] 



The Rivals 

Ahs. Ay, my note indeed! O the little traitress Lucy! 

\^Aside 

Mrs. Mai, There, perhaps you may know the writ- 
ing. \Glves him the letter 

Ah. I think I have seen the hand before — yes, I cer- 
tainly must have seen this hand before — 

Mrs. Mai. Nay, but read it, captain. 

Abs. \Reads^ My souVs idol^ ?ny adored Lydia I — Very 
tender indeed! 

Mrs. Mai. Tender ! ay, and profane too, o' my con- 
science. 

Abs. [Reads.^ I am excessively alarmed at the intelli- 
gence you send me^ the more so as my new rival — 

Mrs. Mai. That's you, sir. 

Abs. \^Reads.^ Has universally the charaSfer of being an 
accomplished gentleman and a man of honour. — Well, that's 
handsome enough. 

Mrs. Mai. Oh, the fellow has some design in writ- 
ing so. 

Abs. That he had, I'll answer for him, ma'am. 

Mrs. Mai. But go on, sir — you'll see presently. 

Abs. \^Reads.^ As for the old weather-beaten she-dragon 
who guards you — Who can he mean by that? 

Mrs. Mai. Me, sir — me! he means me! — There 
— what do you think now? — but go on a little fur- 
ther. 

Abs. Impudent scoundrel! — \^Reads.^ it shall go hard 
but I will elude her vigilance^ as I am told that the same 
ridiculous vanity which makes her dress up her coarse fea- 

[60] 



Me, sir - me! he means me !** 



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Aa Third 

tiires and deck her dull chat with hard words which she 
dorCt understand — 

Mrs. Mai. There, sir, an attack upon my language ! 

What do you think of that ? — an aspersion upon my 

parts of speech ! was ever such a brute! Sure, if I repre- 

A hend anything in this world, it is the use of my oracular 

\\ tongue, and a nice derangement of epitaphs! 

» \ Abs. He deserves to be hanged and quartered ! let me 

see — \Reads^ same ridiculous vanity — 

Mrs, Mai. You need not read it again, sir. 
Abs. I beg pardon, ma'am. — \Reads.'\ does also lay 
her open to the grossest deceptions from flattery and pre- 
tended admiration — an impudent coxcomb! — so that I 
have a scheme to see you shortly with the old harridan s 
consent^ and even to make her a go-between in our inter- 
view. — Was ever such assurance! 

Mrs. Mai. Did you ever hear anything like it? — 
he'll elude my vigilance, will he? — yes, yes! ha! ha! 
he's very likely to enter these doors; — we'll try who 
can plot best! 

Abs. So we will, ma'am — so we will! Ha! ha! ha! 
a conceited puppy, ha! ha! ha! — Well, but Mrs. Mal- 
aprop, as the girl seems so infatuated by this fellow, 
suppose you were to wink at her corresponding with 
him for a little time — let her even plot an elopement 
with him — then do you connive at her escape — while 
I, just in the nick, will have the fellow laid by the heels, 
and fairly contrive to carry her off in his stead. 

Mrs. Mai. I am delighted with the scheme; never 
was anything better perpetrated! 
[6i ] 



The Rivals 

Abs. But, pray, could not I see the lady for a few 
minutes now? — I should Hlce to try her temper a little. 

Mrs. Mai. Why, I don't know — I doubt she is not 
prepared for a visit of this kind. There is a decorum in 
these matters. 

Abs. O Lord! she won't mind me — only tell her 
Beverley — 

Mrs. Mai Sir! 

Abs. Gently, good tongue. \_Aside 

Mrs. Mai. What did you say of Beverley ? 

Ahs. Oh, I was going to propose that you should 
tell her, by way of jest, that it was Beverley who was 
below ; sheM come down fast enough then — ha ! ha! ha! 

Mrs. Mai. 'T would be a trick she well deserves; 
besides, you know the fellow tells her he'll get my 
consent to see her — ha! ha! Let him if he can, I say 
again. Lydia, come down here! [Calling.'] He'll make 
me a go-between in their interviews! ha! ha! ha! 
Come down, I say, Lydia! I don't wonder at your 
laughing, ha! ha! ha! his impudence is truly ridiculous. 

Abs. 'Tis very ridiculous, upon my soul, ma'am, ha! 
ha! ha! 

Mrs. Mai. The little hussy won't hear. Well, I'll go 
and tell her at once who it is — she shall know that 
Captain Absolute is come to wait on her. And I'll 
make her behave as becomes a young woman. 

Abs. As you please, ma'am. 

Mrs. Mai. For the present, captain, your servant. 
Ah! you've not done laughing yet, I see — elude my 
vigilance; yes, yes; ha! ha! ha! [Exit 

[62] 



Ad Third 

Jbs. Ha! ha! ha! one would think now that I might 
throw off all disguise at once, and seize my prize with 
security ; but such is Lydia's caprice, that to undeceive 
were probably to lose her. I '11 see whether she knows 
me. 

[ Walks asidcy and seems engaged in looking at the 
piSlures 

Enter Lydia 

Lyd, What a scene am I now to go through! surely 
nothing can be more dreadful than to be obliged to lis- 
ten to the loathsome addresses of a stranger to one's 
heart. I have heard of girls persecuted as I am who have 
appealed in behalf of their favoured lover to the gener- 
osity of his rival ; suppose I were to try it — there stands 
the hated rival — an officer too! — but oh, how unlike 
my Beverley! I wonder he don't begin — truly he seems 
a very negligent wooer! — quite at his ease, upon my 
word! — I'll speak first — Mr. Absolute. 

Abs. Ma'am. [Turns round 

Lyd. O heavens! Beverley! 

Jbs. Hush! — hush, my life! softly! be not surprised! 

Lyd. I am so astonished ! and so terrified ! and so over- 
joyed! for Heaven's sake! how came you here? 

Abs. Briefly, I have deceived your aunt — I was in- 
formed that my new rival was to visit here this evening, 
and, contriving to have him kept away, have passed my- 
self on her for Captain Absolute. 

Lyd. Oh, charming ! And she really takes you for young 
Absolute ? 

Abs, Oh, she's convinced of it. 

[63 ] 



The Rivals 

Lyd. Ha! ha! ha! I can't forbear laughing to think 
how her sagacity is overreached! 

Jbs. But we trifle with our precious moments — such 
another opportunity may not occur ; then let me now 
conjure my kind, my condescending angel, to fix the 
time when I may rescue her from undeserving persecu- 
tion, and with a licensed warmth plead for my reward. 

Lyd. Will you, then, Beverley, consent to forfeit that 
portion of my paltry wealth ? that burden on the wings 
of love ? 

Abs. Oh, come to me — rich only thus — in loveli- 
ness! Bring no portion to me but thy love — 'twill be 
generous in you, Lydia — for well you know, it is the 
only dower your poor Beverley can repay. 

Lyd, How persuasive are his words! — how charming 
will poverty be with him! [Aside 

Abs, Ah! my soul, what a life will we then live! love 
shall be our idol and support! we will worship him with 
a monastic stridlness; abjuring all worldly toys, to cen- 
tre every thought and a6lion there. Proud of calamity, 
we will enjoy the wreck of wealth ; while the surround- 
ing gloom of adversity shall make the flame of our pure 
love show doubly bright. By heavens! I would fling all 
goods of fortune from me with a prodigal hand, to en- 
joy the scene where I might clasp my Lydia to my bo- 
som, and say, the world affords no smile to me but 
here. — [Embracing her.'\ If she holds out now, the devil 
is in it! [Aside 

Lyd. Now could I fly with him to the antipodes! but 
my persecution is not yet come to a crisis. [Aside 

[ 64] 



Ad Third 

Reenter Mrs. Malaprop, listening 

Mrs. Mai. I am impatient to know how the little 
hussy deports herself. \_Astde 

Abs. So pensive, Lydia ! — is then your warmth abated ? 

Mrs. Mai. Warmth abated! — so! — she has been in 
a passion, I suppose. \Aside 

Lyd. No — nor ever can while I have life. 

Mrs. Mai. An ill-tempered little devil! she'll be in a 
passion all her life — will she? \^Aside 

Lyd. Think not the idle threats of my ridiculous aunt 
can ever have any weight with me. 

Mrs. Mai. Very dutiful, upon my word ! [Aside 

Lyd. Let her choice be Captain Absolute, but Bev- 
erley is mine. 

Mrs. Mai. I am astonished at her assurance! — to his 
face — this is to his face! [Aside 

Abs. Thus then let me enforce my suit. [Kneeling 

Mrs. Mai. [Aside. '\ Ay, poor young man! — down on 
his knees entreating for pity ! — I can contain no longer. — 
[Coming forward.^ Why, thou vixen! I have overheard 
you. 

Abs. Oh, confound her vigilance! [Aside 

Mrs. Mai. Captain Absolute, I know not how to 
apologize for her shocking rudeness. 

Abs. [Aside.'] So — all's safe, I find. — [Aloud.'] I have 
hopes, madam, that time will bring the young lady — 

Mrs. Mai. Oh, there's nothing to be hoped for from 
her ! she 's as headstrong as an allegory on the banks of 
the Nile. 

[ 65 ] 



The R 



ivals 



Lyd. Nay, madam, what do you charge me with now ? 

Mrs, MaL Why, thou unblushing rebel — didn't you 
tell this gentleman to his face that you loved another 
better? — didn't you say you never would be his? 

Lyd. No, madam — I did not. 

Mrs, Mai. Good heavens! what assurance! — Lydia, 
Lydia, you ought to know that lying don't become a 
young woman! — Didn't you boast that Beverley, that 
stroller Beverley, possessed your heart? — Tell me that, 
I say. 

Lyd. 'Tis true, ma'am, and none but Beverley — 

Mrs. Mai. Hold! hold, Assurance! — you shall not 
be so rude. 

Ahs. Nay, pray, Mrs. Malaprop, don't stop the young 
lady's speech: — she's very welcome to talk thus — it 
does not hurt me in the least, I assure you. 

Mrs. Mai. You are too good, captain — too amiably 
patient — but come with me, miss. — Let us see you 
again soon, captain — remember what we have fixed. 

Ahs. I shall, ma'am. 

Mrs, Mai, Come, take a graceful leave of the gentle- 
man. 

Lyd. May every blessing wait on my Beverley, my 
loved Bev — 

Mrs. Mai Hussy ! I '11 choke the word in your throat ! — 
come along — come along. 

\_Exeunt severally. Captain Absolute kissing hishand 
to Lydia — Mrs. Malaprop stopping her from 
speaking 

[ 66] 



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"\'^'S\i'/»^ •iW^^ -^"^^^ 



\ Ad Third 

Scene IV : Acres's Lodgings 
Acres, as just dressed^ and David 
Acres. Indeed, David — do you think I become it so? 

Dav. You are quite another creature, believe me, 
master, by the mass! an' vi^e Ve any luck we shall see 
the Devon monkerony in all the print-shops in Bath ! 

Ares. Dress does make a difference, David. 

Dav, 'Tis all in all, I think. — Difference! why, an' 
you were to go now to Clod-Hall, I am certain the old 
lady would n't know you : Master Butler would n't be- 
lieve his own eyes, and Mrs. Pickle would cry, 'Lard 
presarve me!' our dairy-maid would come giggling to 
the door, and I warrant Dolly Tester, your honour's 
favourite, would blush like my waistcoat. — Oons! I'll 
hold a gallon, there an't a dog in the house but would 
bark, and I question whether Phillis would wag a hair 
of her tail! 

Acres. Ay, David, there's nothing like polishing. 

Dav. So I says of your honour's boots ; but the boy 
never heeds me! 

Acres. But, David, has Mr. De-la-grace been here ? I 
must rub up my balancing, and chasing, and boring. 

Dav. I '11 call again, sir. 

Acres. Do — and see if there are any letters for me at 
the post-office. 

Dav. I will. — By the mass, I can't help looking at 
your head! — if I had n't been by at the cooking, I wish 
I may die if I should have known the dish again my- 
self! [Exit 
[67 ] 



The Rivals 

Acres. \Comes forward^praSiisinga dancing step."] Sink, 
slide — coupee. — Confound the first inventors of cotil- 
lons! say I — they are as bad as algebra to us country 
gentlemen — I can walk a minuet easy enough when I 
am forced ! — and I have been accounted a good stick 
in a country-dance. — Odds jigs and tabours! I never val- 
ued your cross-over to couple — figure in — right and 
left — and I 'd foot it with e'er a captain in the country! 
— but these outlandish heathen allemandes and cotillons 
are quite beyond me! — I shall never prosper at 'em, 
that's sure — mine are true-born English legs — they 
don't understand their curst French lingo! — their pas 
this, and pas that, and pas t'other — damn me! my feet 
don't like to be called paws! no 't is certain I have most 
Antigallican toes! 

Enter Servant 
Serv. Here is Sir Lucius O'Trigger to wait on you, sir. 
Acres. Show him in ! [Exit Servant 

Enter Sir Lucius O'Trigger 

Sir Luc. Mr. Acres, I am delighted to embrace you. 

Acres. My dear Sir Lucius, I kiss your hands. 

Sir Luc. Pray, my friend, what has brought you so 
suddenly to Bath ? 

Acres. Faith! I have followed Cupid's Jack-a-lan tern, 
and find myself in a quagmire at last. — In short, I have 
been very ill used, Sir Lucius. — I don't choose to men- 
tion names, but look on me as on a very ill-used gentle- 
man. 

Sir Luc. Pray what is the case? I ask no names. 

[68 ] 




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Aa Third 

Jcres. Mark me, Sir Lucius, I fall as deep as need 
be in love with a young lady — her friends take my 
part — I follow her to Bath — send word of my arrival; 
and receive answer, that the lady is to be otherwise dis- 
posed of. — This, Sir Lucius, I call being ill used. 

Sir Luc. Very ill, upon my conscience. — Pray, can 
you divine the cause of it ? 

Acres. Why, there's the matter ;she has another lover, 
one Beverley, who, I am told, is now in Bath. — Odds 
slanders and lies! he must be at the bottom of it. 

Sir Luc. A rival in the case, is there ? — and you think 
he has supplanted you unfairly ? 

Acres. Unfairly! to be sure he has. He never could 
have done it fairly. 

Sir Luc. Then sure you know what is to be done! 

Acres. Not I, upon my soul! 

Sir Luc. We wear no swords here, but you under- 
stand me. 

Acres. What! fight him! 

Sir Luc. Ay, to be sure : what can I mean else ? 

Acres. But he has given me no provocation. 

Sir Luc. Now, I think he has given you the greatest 
provocation in the world. Can a man commit a more 
heinous offence against another than to fall in love with 
the same woman ? Oh, by !my soul! it is the most un- 
pardonable breach of friendship. 

Acres. Breach of friendship! Ay, ay; but I have no ac- 
quaintance with this man. I never saw him in my life. 

Sir Luc. That's no argument at all — he has the less 
right then to take such a liberty. 

[ 69 ] 



The Rivals 

Acres. Gad, that's true — I grow full of anger, Sir 
Lucius ! I fire apace! Odds hilts and blades! I find a man 
may have a deal of valour in him, and notknovi^ it! But 
couldn't I contrive to have a little right of my side? 

Sir Luc. What the devil signifies right^ when your 
honour is concerned ? Do you think Achilles or my little 
Alexander the Great ever inquired where the right lay ? 
No, by my soul, they drew their broadswords, and left 
the lazy sons of peace to settle the justice of it. 

Jcres. Your words are a grenadier's march to my 
heart; I believe courage must be catching! I certainly 
do feel a kind of valour rising as it were — a kind of 
courage, as I may say. — Odds flints, pans, and triggers! 
I'll challenge him direftly. 

Sir Luc. Ah, my little friend! if I had Blunderbuss- 
Hall here, I could show you a range of ancestry, in the 
O'Trigger line, that would furnish the new room; every 
one of whom had killed his man! — For though the 
mansion-house and dirty acres have slipped through my 
fingers, I thank Heaven our honour and the family pic- 
tures are as fresh as ever. 

Jcres. O Sir Lucius! I have had ancestors too! — 
every man of 'em colonel or captain in the militia! — 
Odds balls and barrels! — say no more — I'm braced for 
it. The thunder of your words has soured the milk of 
human kindness in my breast; — Zounds! as the man 
in the play says, '/ could do such deeds f — 

Sir Luc. Come, come, there must be no passion at all 

in the case — these things should always be done civilly. 

Acres. I must be in a passion, Sir Lucius — I must be 

[ 70] 



Ad Third 

in a rage. — Dear Sir Lucius, let me be in a rage, if you 
love me. Come, here's pen and paper. — [^Sits down to 
write.] I would the ink were red! — Indite, I say in- 
dite! — How shall I begin ? Odds bullets and blades! PU 
write a good bold hand, however. 

Sir Luc. Pray compose yourself. 

Jcres. Come — now, shall I begin with an oath? Do, 
Sir Lucius, let me begin with a damme. 

Sir Luc. Pho! pho! do the thing decently, and like a 
Christian. Begin now — Sir — 

Acres. That's too civil by half. 

Sir Luc. To prevent the confusion that might arise — 

Acres. Well — 

Sir Luc. From our both addressing the same lady — 

Acres. Ay, there's the reason — same lady — well — 

Sir Luc. I shall expeSf the honour of your company — 

Acres. Zounds! I 'm not asking him to dinner. 

Sir Luc. Pray be easy. 

Acres. Well then, honour of your company — 

Sir Luc. To settle our pretensions — 

Acres. Well. 

Sir Luc. Let me see ; ay King's- Mead-Fields will do 
— in Kin^ s- Mead-Fields. 

Acres. So, that's done — Well, I '11 fold it up presently; 
my own crest — a hand and dagger shall be the seal. 

Sir Luc. You see now this little explanation will put 
a stop at once to all confusion or misunderstanding that 
might arise between you. 

Acres. Ay, we fight to prevent any misunderstanding. 

f 71 ] 



^' 



The Rivals 

Sir Luc. Now, I'll leave you to fix your own time. 
— Take my advice, and you'll decide it this evening if 
you can; then let the worst come of it, 'twill be off 
your mind to-morrow. 
^;;r^ ^f^-^^res. Very true. 
\^*-" Sir Luc. So I shall see nothing more of you, unless it 

be by letter, till the evening. — I would do myself the 
honour to carry your message ; but, to tell you a secret, 
I believe I shall have just such another affair on my own 
hands. There is a gay captain here, who put a jest on 
me lately at the expense of my country, and I only want 
to fall in with the gentleman to call him out. 

Jcres. By my valour, I should like to see you fight 
first! Odds life! I should like to see you kill him if it 
was only to get a little lesson. 

Sir Luc. I shall be very proud of instrufting you. — 
Well for the present — but remember now, when you 
meet your antagonist, do everything in a mild and agree- 
able manner. — Let your courage be as keen, but at the 
same time as polished, as your sword. [Exeunt severally 



[ 72 ] 



\ 



I shall expect the honour of your company 



:c) tali 



.'\WQ-i •^Vl«^(\; x^ftWQ.^^^^ ^^"i<\x'i \Wy'. \ 



Aa IV 

Scene I : Acres's Lodgings 

Acres and David 

DAF. Then, by the mass, sir! I would do no such 
thing — ne'er a Sir Lucius O'Trigger in the king- 
dom should make me fight, when I waVt so minded. 
Oons! what will the old lady say when she hears o't ? 

Jcres. Ah! David, if you had heard Sir Lucius! — Odds 
sparks and flames! he would have roused your valour. 

Dav. Not he, indeed. I hates such bloodthirsty cor- 
morants. Look'ee, master, if you'd wanted a bout at 
boxing, quarter-staff, or short-staff, I should never be the 
man to bid you cry off: but for your curst sharps and 
snaps, I never knew any good come of 'em. 

Acres, But my honour, David, my honour! I must 
be very careful of my honour. 

Dav. Ay, by the mass! and I would be very careful 
of it ; and I think in return my honour could n't do less 
then be very careful of me. 

Acres. Odds blades! David, no gentleman will ever 
risk the loss of his honour! 

Dav, I say then, it would be but civil in honour never 
to risk the loss of a gentleman. — Look'ee, master, this 
honour seems to me to be a marvellous false friend : ay, 
truly, a very courtier-like servant. — Put the case, I was 
a gentleman (which, thank God, no one can say of me) ; 
well — my honour makes me quarrel with another gen- 

[ 73 ] 



The Rivals 

tleman of my acquaintance. — So — we fight. (Pleasant 
enough that!) Boh! — I kill him — (the more's my luck). 
Now, pray who gets the profit of it ? — Why, my honour. 
But put the case that he kills me! — by the mass! I go to 
the worms, and my honour whips over to my enemy,, 

Jcres. No, David — in that case! — Odds crowns and 
laurels! your honour follows you to the grave. 

Dav. Now that's just the place where I could make 
a shift to do without it. 

Acres. Zoundsi David, you are a coward ! — It does n't 
become my valour to listen to you. — What, shall I dis- 
grace my ancestors? — Think of that, David — think 
what it would be to disgrace my ancestors! 

Dav. Under favour, the surest way of not disgracing 
them is to keep as long as you can out of their com-- 
pany. Look'ee now, master, to go to them in such haste 
— with an ounce of lead in your brains — I should think 
might as well be let alone. Our ancestors are very good 
kind of folks ; but they are the last people I should choose 
to have a visiting acquaintance with. 

Jcres. But, David, now, you don't think there is 
such very, very, very great danger, hey? — Odds life! 
people often fight without any mischief done! 

Dav. By the mass, I think 'tis ten to one against 
you! — Oons! here to meet some lion-headed fellow, I 
warrant, with his damned double-barrelled swords, and 
cut-and-thrust pistols! — Lord bless us! it makes me 
tremble to think o 't ! ■ — Those be such desperate bloody- 
minded weapons! Well, I never could abide 'em — from 
a child I never could fancy 'em! — I suppose there an't 

[ 74] 



" Our ancestors are the last people I should choose to 
have a visiting acquaintance with ' ' 



that's 



;e my ancc 
-"^est way ( 
u can o 



y iifood 



i.V"? Si ^»5V\^ 



Ad Fourth 

been so merciless a beast in the world as your loaded 
pistol ! 

Acres. Zounds! I wont be afraid! Odds fire and fury! 
you shan't make me afraid. — Here is the challenge, and 
I have sent for my dear friend Jack Absolute to carry it 
for me. 

Dav, Ay, i' the name of mischief, let him be the mes- 
senger. — For my part, I wouldn't lend a hand to it for 
the best horse in your stable. By the mass ! it don't look 
like another letter! It is, as I may say, a designing and 
malicious-looking letter ; — and I warrant smells of gun- 
powder like a soldier's pouch ! — Oons ! I would n't swear 
it mayn't go oiF! 

Acres, Out, you poltroon! you ha'n't the valour of a 
grasshopper. 

Dav. Well, I say no more — 'twill be sad news, to 
be sure, at Clod-Hall! but I ha' done. — How Phillis will 
howl when she hears of it! — Ay, poor bitch, she little 
thinks what shooting her master's going after! — And 
I warrant old Crop, who has carried your honour, field 
and road, these ten years, will curse the hour he was 
bor n . [ fVh impering 

Acres. It won't do, David — I am determined to fight 
— so get along, you coward, while I'm in the mind. 

Enter Servant 
Serv. Captain Absolute, sir. 

Acres, Oh! show him up. [Exit Servant 

Dav. Well, Heaven send we be all alive this time 
to-morrow. 

[75] 



The Rivals 

Jcrcs. What's that? — Don't provoke me, David! 
Dav. Good-by, master. [Whimpering 

Acres. Get along, you cowardly, dastardly, croaking 
raven! \^Exit David 

Enter Captain Absolute 

Ahs, What's the matter, Bob? 

Acres. A vile, sheep-hearted blockhead! — If I had n't 
the valour of St. George and the dragon to boot — 

Abs. But what did you want with me. Bob? 

Acres. Oh! — there — \Gives him the challenge 

Ahs. [Aside^ To Ensign Beverley. — So, what's going 
on now? — [y//ow^.] Well, what's this? 

Acres. A challenge! 

Abs. Indeed! Why, you won't fight him; will you, 
Bob? 

Acres. Egad, but I will. Jack. Sir Lucius has wrought 
me to it. He has left me full of rage — and I'll fight 
this evening, that so much good passion mayn't be 
wasted. 

Ahs. But what have I to do with this ? 

Acres. Why, as I think you know something of this 
fellow, I want you to find him out for me, and give him 
this mortal defiance. 

Ahs. Well, give it to me, and trust me he gets it. 

Acres. Thank you, my dear friend, my dear Jack ; but 
it is giving you a great deal of trouble. 

Ahs, Not in the least — I beg you won't mention it. 
— No trouble in the world, I assure you. 

Acres, You are very kind. — What it is to have a 

[76] 



Ad Fourth 

friend ! — You could n't be my second, could you, Jack ? 

Jbs. Why, no. Bob — not in this affair — it would not 
be quite so proper. 

Acres. Well, then, I must get my friend Sir Lucius. 
I shall have your good wishes, however, Jack ? 

Abs, Whenever he meets you, believe me. 

Reenter Servant 

Serv. Sir Anthony Absolute is below, inquiring for 
the captain. 

Abs.VW come instantly. — [Exit Servant.] Well, 
my little hero, success attend you. [Going 

Acres, Stay — stay. Jack. — If Beverley should ask you 
what kind of a man your friend Acres is, do tell him I 
am a devil of a fellow — will you. Jack? 

Abs, To be sure I shall. I '11 say you are a determined 
dog — hey. Bob! 

Acres, Ay, do, do — and if that frightens him, egad, 
perhaps he mayn't come. So tell him I generally kill a 
man a week ; will you. Jack ? 

Abs, I will, I will; I'll say you are called in the 
country Fighting Bob, 

Acres. Right — right — 't is all to prevent mischief; for 
I don't want to take his life if I clear my honour. 

Abs. No ! that 's very kind of you. 

Acres, Why, you don't wish me to kill him — do you. 
Jack ? 

Abs. No, upon my soul, I do not. — But a devil of a 
fellow, hey? [Going 

Acres. True, true — but stay — stay. Jack — you may 

[77] 



The Rivals 

add that you never saw me in such a rage before — a 
most devouring rage ! 

Jbs. I will, I will. 

Jcres, Remember, Jack — a determined dog! 

Abs, Ay, ay, Fighting Bob! [Exeunt severally 



Scene II : Mrs, Malaprop's Lodgings 

Mrs. Malaprop and Lydia ^.^■' ^-*4-^ ^ 

Mrs. Mai. Why, thou perverse one! — tell me what 
you can obje6l to him? Isn't he a handsome man? — 
tell me that. A genteel man ? a pretty figure of a man ? 
L-Lyd. [Jside.] She little thinks whom she is praising! 
— [Jloud.'j So is Beverley, ma'am. 

Mrs. Mai. No caparisons, miss, if you please. Capari- 
sons don't become a young woman. No! Captain Ab- 
solute is indeed a fine gentleman! "^^r:^ 

Lyd. Ay, the Captain Absolute you have seen. [Aside 
/!2iKvf . Mrs. MaL Then he's so well bred; — so full of ala- 
crity, and adulation! and has so much to say for himself: 
— in such good language too! — His physiognomy so 
grammatical! — then his presence is so noble! — I pro- 
test, when I saw him, I thought of what Hamlet says in 
the play : — "Hesperian curls — the front of Job himself ! 
— an eye, Hke March, to threaten at command! — A 
station, like Harry Mercury, new — " Something about 
kissing — on a hill — however, the similitude struck me 
diredlly. 

■ [78] 



Ad Fourth 

•^ Lyd. How enraged she'll be presently, when she dis- 
covers her mistake! \Aside 
Enter Servant (O. 
Serv, Sir Anthony and Captain Absolute are below, 
ma'am. 
/^ Mrs. Mai. Show them up here. — [Exit Servant.] C 
:. i^ptlX*- Now, Lydia, I insist on your behaving as becomes a 
young woman. Show your good breeding, at least, though 
you have forgot your duty. 
A..^ Lyd, Madam, I have told you my resolution! — I 
shall not only give him no encouragement^ but I wgn't 

even speak to or look at him. ^ ;<■ /^■^"' ^ '' 

[^Flings herself into a chair ^ with her face from the door 

Enter Sir Anthony Absolute and Captain (^ 
'r , Absolute / .,{ , / <^.; 

Sir Jnth. Here we are, Mrs. Malaprop; come to { 
mitigate the frowns of unrelenting beauty, — and diffi- 
culty enough I had to bring this fellow. — I don't know 
what's the matter; but if I had not held him by force, 
he'd have given me the slip. 

Mrs. Mai. You have infinite trouble. Sir Anthony, 
in the affair. I am ashamed for the cause! — \^Aside to 
Lydia.] Lydia, Lydia, rise, I beseech you! — pay your 
respeds! 0fi^ j^ U^^f^ ^ /{ 
^ Sir Jnth. I hope, madam, that Miss Languish has 
refle6ted on the worth of this gentleman, and the regard 
due to her aunt's choice and my alliance. — [Aside to ^ 
Captain Absolute.] Now, Jack, speak to her. 
^- • Abs. [Aside.'] What the devil shall I do [ — [Aside to 
Sir Anthony.] You see, sir, she won\ even look at 

[79] 



The Rivals O 

me whilst you are here. — I knew she would n't ! — I told 
you so. — Let me entreat you, sir, to leave us together! 

[See^ns to expostulate with his father i^ 
Lyd. [Aside.] I wonder I ha'n't heard my aunt ex- 
claim yet! sure she can't have looked at him ! — perhaps 
their regimentals are alike, and she is something blind. 
; f X-5/r Jnth, I say, sir, I won't stir a foot yet! 

Mrs. Mai. I am sorry to say. Sir Anthony, that my 
affluence over my niece is very small. — [Aside to Ly- 
^DiA.] Turn round, Lydia : I blush for you! 
/p.^i/^ Sir Anth, May I not flatter myself that Miss Lan- 
,L. (i guish will assign what cause of dislike she can have to ^j^ J 
r\ir>^ p ^y sQn! — [Aside to Captain Absolute.] Why don't; '' 

I'^v^ you begin, Jack? — Speak, you puppy — speak. 

C Mrs. Mai. It is impossible. Sir Anthony, she can ^ y t^ 
have any. She will not say she has. — [Aside to Lydia.] * 

Answer, hussy! why don't you answer? 

Sir Anth. Then, madam, I trust that a childish and 
hasty predilection will be no bar to Jack's happiness. — 
[Aside to Captain Absolute.] — Zounds! sirrah! why 
don't you speak ! ' ^ ^ . ^iAa^'^ ' 

^^ Lyd. [Aside.] I think my lover seems as little inclined 
to conversation as myself. — How strangely blind my 
aunt must be! 
/ Abs. Hem ! hem ! madam — hem ! — [ Attempts to speak;, 
then returns to Sir Anthony.] Faith ! sir, I am so con- 
founded! — and — so — so — confused! — I told you I 
should be so, sir — I knew it. — The — the — tremor of 
my passion entirely takes away my presence of mind. 
Sir Anth. But it don't take away your voice, fool, 

[ 80] 



A<a Fourth 

does it? — Go up, and speak to her diredlly! 

[Captain Absolute makes signs to Mrs. Mala- 
PROP to leave them together 
Q Mrs. Mai. Sir Anthony, shall we leave them to- 
gether? — [Aside to Lydia.] Ah! you stubborn little 
vixen! ' A'- " ' • 

Ifhylxji^.' Sir Jnth. Not yet, ma'am, not yet! — [Aside to Cap- 
XiUHain Absolute.] What the devil are you at? unlock 
your jaws, sirrah, or — 

L Ahs. [Aside.'] Now Heaven send she may be too sul- 
len to look round! — I must disguise my voice. — 
[Draws near Lydia, and speaks in a low hoarse tone.] 
Will not Miss Languish lend an ear to the mild accents 
of true love? Will not — 

Sir A nth. What the devil ails the fellow ? Why don't 
you speak out? — not stand croaking like a frog in a 
quinsy! 
(f^..Ajbx^\ ^bs. The — the — excess of my awe, and my — my 
^ ■ — my modesty, quite choke me! A^.- ' l-^- 

Sir Anth. Ah! your modesty again! — I'll tell you 
what. Jack ; if you don't speak out diredtly, and glibly 
too, I shall be in such a rage! — Mrs. Malaprop, I wish 
t'he lady would favour us with something more than a 
sjde-front. \^Mrs. Malaprop stems to chide Lydia 

^" Abs. [Aside.] So all will out, I seel/— [Goes up /^ Lydia, 
speaks softly.] Be not surprised, my Lydia, suppress all 
surprise at present. 

Lyd. [Aside.] Heavens! 'tis Beverley's voice! Sure he 

-can't have imposed on Sir Anthony too! — [Looks round 

by degrees^ then starts up.] Is this possible! — my Bever- 

[ 8i ] 



■■' i_ i- 



t^ 




The Rivals 

^M/^ ley! — how can this be? — my Beverley? 
^^•JUh-^'^ / ■^bs. Ah! 'tis all over. [Aside 

^ Sir Jnth. Beyerley [ — the devil — Beverley! — What 
can the girl mean ? — This is my son, Jack Absolute. 
(yyv^-^1 ' Mrs. Mai, For shame, hussy ! for shame ! your head 
runs so on that fellow, that you have him always in your 
eyes! — beg Captain Absolute's pardon dire6lly. 
/?, Lyd, I see no Captain Absolute, but my loved Bev- 
erley ! ^ ^■^■^-. 

Sir Anth. Zounds! the girl's mad! — her brain's, 
turned by reading. Ojv^-^ : r,,., . / ^.r.'"t / -ii-^-^- 

C Mrs. Mai. O' my conscience, I believe so! — What 
do you mean by Beverley, hussy? — You saw Captain 
Absolute before to-day; there he is — your husband that 
shall be. 

Lyd. With all my soul, ma'am — when I refuse my 
Beverley — /Lm.. 
/_ Sir Anth. Oh! she's as mad as Bedlam! — or has this 

fellow been playing us a rogue's trick! — Come here, 
sirrah ; who the devil are you ? 
^ t. Ahs. Faith, sir, I am not quite clear myself j but I'll 
endeavour to recolleft. ^, 

Sir Anth. Are you my son or not? — answer foryour 
mother, you dog, if you won't for me. 

Mrs. Mai. Ay, sir, who are you ? Oh, mercy ! I be- 
gin to susped ! — ^' * yv-i# n fii^f-f^^'SK fi $^ 

Ahs. [Aside.'\ Ye powers of Impudence, befriend me! 
— [Aloud.] Sir An-thony, most assuredly I am your wife's 
son J aniLthat I sincerely believe myself to be yours also, 






[82] 



f^^u^i. 



Ad Fourth 

I hope my duty has always shown. — Mrs. Malaprop, 
I am your most respectful admirer, and shall be proud 
to add affeftionate nephew. — I need not tell my Lydia 
that she sees her faithful Beverley, who, knowing the 
singular generosity of her temper, assumed that name 
and station, which has proved a test of the most disin- 
terested love, which he now hopes to enjoy in a more 
elevated charafter. 

Lyd, So ! — there will be no elopement after all ! \ ^ - - AjC^ft 

[Sullenly 

Sir Anth. Upon my soul. Jack, thpu art a very im- 
pudent fellow ! to do you justice, I think I never saw a 
piece of more consummate assurance ! 

Abs. Oh, you flatter me, sir — you compliment — 'tis 
my modesty^ you know, sir — my modesty^ that has stood 
in my way. 

Sir Anth. Well, I am glad you are not the dull, in- 
sensible varlet you pretended to be, however! — I'm 
glad you have made a fool of your father, you dog — I 
am. — So this was your />^«/7^«c^, your duty and obedience! 
— I thought it was damned sudden ! — Tou never heard 
their names before^ not you! — what^ the Languishes of 
Worcestershire, hey ? — if you could please me in the affair 
it was all you desired! — Ah ! you dissembling villain ! — 
What ! — [Pointing to Lydia.] she squints.^ dont she? — a 
little red-haired girl! — htj}— Why, you hypocritical 
young rascal! — I wonder you an't ashamed to hold up 
your head ! 

Abs. 'Tis with difficulty, sir. — I am confused- 
very much confused, as you must perceive. 

[ 83 ] ^ 



The Rivals 

Mrs, Mai. O Lud! Sir Anthony! — a new light 
breaks in upon me! — hey! — how! what! captain, did 
you write the letters then ? — What — am I to thank ^^w 
for the elegant compilation of an old weather-beaten she- 
dragon — hey! — Oh, mercy! — was it j;(?« that reflefted / 
on my parts of speech? ^ v ^tv ■ -y.'^ 

/.iji'-, 1^ i Ahs. Dear sir! my modesty will be overpowered at 
last, if you don't assist me — I shall certainly not be 
able to stand it! /-^A.-' L- 
-y^H V 5/r Anth. Come, come, Mrs. Malaprop, we must 
^ forget and forgive; — odds life! matters have taken so 
clever a turn all of a sudden, that I could find in my 
heart to be so good-humoured! and so gallant! hey! 
Mrs. Malaprop! 
/3 C Mrs, Mai. Well, Sir Anthony, since you desire it, we 
will not anticipate the past! — so mind, young people 
— our retrospedlion will be all to the future. 

iS/V Anth. Come, we must leave them together; Mrs. 
Malaprop, they long to fly into each other's arms, I 
warrant! — Jack — isn't the cheek as I said, hey? — and 
the eye, you rogue! — and the lip — hey? Come, Mrs. 
Malaprop, we'll not disturb their tenderness — theirs is 
the time of life for happiness! — Youth'' s the season made for 
joy — \^S'ings.'\ — hey! — Odds life! I'm in such spirits, — 
I don't know what I could not do! — Permit me, ma''am 
— \Gives his hand to Mrs. Malaprop.] \^ings.'\ Tol-de- 
rol — 'gad, I should like to have a little fooling myself 
— Tol-de-rol! de-rol. * ^^V \*^ 

[Exit, singing and handing Mrs. Malaprop. — 
Lydia sits sullenly in her chair 

[84] 



Aa Fourth 

/-frt^A. , L Ji^^ [Jside.] So much thought bodes me no good. — 
[J loud.] So grave, Lydia! 
^'- Lyd.Sivl 

. Jbs. [Aside.'] So! — egad! I thought as much! — that 

damned monosyllable has froze me! — [Aloud.'] What, 

Lydia, now that we are as happy fn our friends' consent, 

as in our mutual vows — 

f' '< Lyd, Friends^ consent indeed ! [Peevishly 

^)^;-ft^tt iU-^. ^bs. Come, come, we must lay aside some of our 

/ romance — a little wealth and comfort may be endured 

after all. And for your fortune, the lawyers shall make 

such settlements as — 

Lyd. Lawyers! I hate lawyers! 
(1^^^,^^ Abs. Nay, then, we will not wait for their lingering 
(^A^Hw-,, forms, but instantly procure the licence, and — 
"- . Lyd. The licence! — I hate licence! 

Abs. Oh, my love! be not so unkind! — thus let me 
entreat— [Kneeling 

Lyd. Psha! — what signifies kneeling, when you know 
I must have you ? 

Abs. [Rising.] Nay, madam, there shall be no con- 
straint upon your inclinations, I promise you. — If I 
have lost your heart — I resign the rest — [Aside.] 'Gad, 
I must try what a little spirit will do. 

Lyd. [Rising.] Then, sir, let me tell you, the interest 
you had there was acquired by a mean, unmanly im- 
position, and deserves the punishment of fraud. — What, 
you have been treating me like a child! — humouring 
my romance! and laughing, I suppose, at your success! 

[ 85 ] 



The Rivals 

Ahs, You wrong me, Lydia, you wrong me — only 

Lv^. So, while / fondly imagined we were deceiving 
my relations, and flattered myself that I should outwit 
and incense them all — behold my hopes are to be crushed 
at once, by my aunt's consent and approbation — and 
/ am myself the only dupe at last! — \_Walktng about in 
a heat.'] But here, sir, is the pi6lure — Beverley's pic- 
ture! [taking a miniature from her hosoni\ which I have 
worn, night and day, in spite of threats and entreaties! 

— There, sir, \fiings it to /;/m]"and be assured I throw 
the original from my heart as easily. fsl'-'tMiie^ '^Pf 

Jbs. Nay, nay, ma'am, we will not differ as to that. 
f^ e^^^^^-^/^'^^i^Here, [taking out a piSiure] here is Miss Lydia Lan- 
guish. — What a difference! — ay, there is the heavenly 
assenting smile that first gave soul and spirit to my hopes ! 
— those are the lips which sealed a vow, as yet scarce 
dry in Cupid's calendar! and there the half-resentful 
blush, that would have checked the ardour of my thanks! 

— Well, all that's past! — all over indeed! — There, 
madam — in beauty, that copy is not equal to you, but 
in my mind its merit over the original, in being still the 
same, is such — that — I cannot find in my heart to part 
with it. [Puts it up again 

Lyd, [Softening.] 'Tis your own doing, sir — I — I — I 
suppose you are perfectly satisfied. 

Abs. Oh, most certainly — sure, now, this is much 
better than being in love! ha! hal ha! — there's some 
spirit in //2/j/f— What signifies breaking some scores of 
solemn promises: — all that's of no consequence, you 

[86] 



^ 



3i^-a'i£^0^<:0^,^ 



In beauty y that copy is not equal to you I 



\ V^^/ ^:A \iiVi\j:^ \<5>» U ^<\*i-i V.vf'i ,^(\\iM'ii^ S^;\ *' 



AS: Fourth 

know. — To be sure people will say that miss don't 
know her own mind — but never mind that! Or, per- 
haps, they may be ill-natured enough to hint that the 
gentleman grew tired of the lady and forsook her — 
but don't let that fret you. ;>-»/.■ .:-. 
Lyd. There is no bearing his insolence. 

[Bursts into tears 

Reenter Mrs, Malaprop and Sir Anthony 
Absolute 

Mrs. Mai. [Entering.] Come, we must interrupt your 
billing and cooing awhile. -'li-^'^^id^^ *w 

Lyd. This is worse than your treachery and deceit, 
you base ingrate! [Sobbing 

Sir Anth. What the devil's the matter now! — 
Zounds! Mrs. Malaprop, this is the oddest billing and 
cooing I ever heard! — but what the deuce is the mean- 
ing of it? — I am quite astonished! 

Abs. Ask the lady, sir. 

Mrs. Mai. Oh, mercy! — I'm quite analyzed, for my 
part! — Why, Lydia, what is the reason of this? -' '^^ 

Lyd. Ask the gentleman, ma'am. '' 

^ ^Sir Anth. Zounds! I shall be in a frenzy! — Why, 
Jack, you are not come out to be any one else, are you ? 

Mrs. MaL Ay, sir, there's no more trick, is there? — 
you are not like Cerberus, three gentlemen at once, are 
you? 

Abs. You'll not let me speak — I say the lady can ac- 
count for this much better than I can. 

Lyd. Ma'am, you once commanded me never to think 

[87] 




The Rivals 

of Beverley again — there is the man — I now obey you : 
for, from this moment, I renounce liim for ever. .Lr'-^ 

[Exit Lydia'J^^W' 

Airs. Mai. Oh, mercy! and miracles! w^hat a turn 
lere is — why sure, captain, you haven't behaved dis- 
respeftfully to my niece? 

Sir A nth. Ha! ha! ha! — ha! ha! ha! — now I see it. 
Ha! ha! ha! — now I see it — you have been too lively, 
Jack. 

Jbs, Nay, sir, upon my word — 

Sir Anth. Come, no lying, Jack — I'm sure 'twas so. 

Mrs, Mai. O Lud! Sir Anthony! — Oh, fy, captain! 

Ahs. Upon my soul, ma'am — 

Sir Anth. Come, no excuses, Jack ; why, your father, 
you rogue, was so before you: — the blood of the Abso- 
lutes was always impatient. — Ha! ha! ha! poor little 
Lydia! why, you've frightened her, you dog, you have. 

Ahs. By all that's good, sir — 

Sir Anth. Zounds! say no more, I tell you — Mrs. 
Malaprop shall make your peace. — You must make his 
peace, Mrs. Malaprop: — you must tell her 'tis Jack's 
way — tell her 'tis all our ways — it runs in the blood 
of our family! — Come away. Jack — Ha! ha! ha! Mrs. 
Malaprop — a young villain! \Fmhes him out 

Mrs, Mai. Oh! Sir Anthony! — Oh, ^y.^ captain! 

[Exeunt severally 



[88] 



Ad: Fourth 

Scene III : The North Parade 
Enter Sir Lucius O'Trigger 
Sir Luc. I wonder where this Captain Absolute hides 
himself! Upon my conscience! these officers are always 
in one's way in love affairs: — I remember I might 
have married Lady Dorothy Carmine, if it had not been 
for a little rogue of a major, who ran away with her 
before she could get a sight of me! And I wonder too 
what it is the ladies can see in them to be so fond of 
them — unless it be a touch of the old serpent in 'em, 
that makes the little creatures be caught, like vipers, 
with a bit of red cloth. Ha! isn't this the captain com- 
ing? — faith it is! — There is a probability of succeeding 
about that fellow that is mighty provoking! Who the 
devil is he talking to ? [Steps aside 

Enter Captain Absolute 

Abs. [Jside.^ To what fine purpose I have been plot- 
ting! a noble reward for all my schemes, upon my soul! 
— a little gypsy! — I did not think her romance could 
have made her so damned absurd either. 'Sdeath, I 
never was in a worse humour in my life! — I could cut 
my own throat, or any other person's, with the great- 
est pleasure in the world! 

Sir Luc. Oh, faith! Pm in the luck of it. I never could 
have found him in a sweeter temper for my purpose — 
to be sure I'm just come in the nick! Now to enter into 
conversation with him, and so quarrel genteelly. — [Goes 
up to Captain Absolute.] With regard to that matter, 
captain, I must beg leave to differ in opinion with you. 

[ 89] 



The Rivals 

Abs. Upon my word, then, you must be a very subtle 
disputant : — because, sir, I happened just then to be giv- 
ing no opinion at all. 

Sir Luc. That's no reason. For, give me leave to tell 
you, a man may think an untruth as w^ell as speak one. 

Abs. Very true, sir; but if a man never utters his 
thoughts, I should think they might stand a chance of 
escaping controversy. 

Sir Luc. Then, sir, you differ in opinion with me, 
which amounts to the same thing. 

Abs. Hark'ee, Sir Lucius ; if I had not before known 
you to be a gentleman, upon my soul, I should not havel 
discovered it at this interview : for what you can drive! 
at, unless you mean to quarrel with me, I cannot con-' 
ceive. 

Sir Luc. I humbly thank you, sir, for the quickness 
of your apprehension. — [Bowing.] You have named the 
very thing I would be at. 

Abs. Very well, sir; I shall certainly not balk your 
inclinations. — But I should be glad you would please 
to explain your motives. 

M Sir Luc. Pray, sir, be easy; — the quarrel is a very 
pretty quarrel as it stands; — we should only spoil it by 
trying to explain it. -^However, your memory is very 
short, or you could not have forgot an affront you passed 
on me within this week. — So, no more, but name your 
time and place. 

Abs. Well, sir, since you are so bent on it, the sooner 
the better; let it be this evening — here by the Spring 
Gardens. — We shall scarcely be interrupted. 

[90] 



Aa Fourth 

Sir Luc. Faith ! that same interruption in affairs of 
this nature shows very great ill-breeding. — I don't 
know what's the reason, but in England, if a thing of 
this kind gets wind, people make such a pother, that a 
gentleman can never fight in peace and quietness. How- 
ever, if it's the same to you, captain, I should take it as 
a particular kindness if you'd let us meet in King's- 
Mead-Fields, as a little business will call me there about 
six o'clock, and I may despatch both matters at once. 

Jbs. 'Tis the same to me exa6lly. — A little after 
six, then, we will discuss this matter more seriously. 

Sir Luc. If you please, sir; there will be very pretty 
small-sword light, though it won't do for a long shot. 
— So that matter's settled, and my mind's at ease. 

[Exit 

Enter Faulkland, tneeting Absolute 
Abs, Well met! I was going to look for you. — O 
Faulkland ! all the demons of spite and disappointment 
have conspired against me! I'm so vexed, that if I had 
not the prospedl of a resource in being knocked o' the 
head by-and-by, I should scarce have spirits to tell you 
the cause. 

Faulk. What can you mean? — Has Lydia changed 
her mind? — I should have thought her duty and in- 
clination would now have pointed to the same obje6l. 

Abs. Ay, just as the eyes do of a person who squints : 
when her love-eye was fixed on me, t'other, her eye of 
duty, was finely obliqued : but when duty bid her point 
that the same way, off^ t'other turned on a swivel, and 
secured its retreat with a frown ! 

[ 9« ] 



The Rivals 

Faulk. But what's the resource you — 

Abs. Oh, to wind up the whole, a good-natured Irish- 
man here has — [Mimicking Sir 1^\5Q.i\js\ — begged leave 
to have the pleasure of cutting my throat : and I mean 
to indulge him — that's all. 

Faulk. Prithee, be serious! 

Abs. 'Tis faft, upon my soul! Sir Lucius O'Trigger 
— you know him by sight — for some affront, which I 
am sure I never intended, has obliged me to meet him 
this evening at six o'clock : 't is on that account I wished 
to see you; — you must go with me. 

Faulk. Nay, there must be some mistake, sure. Sir 
Lucius shall explain himself, and I dare say matters may 
be accommodated. But this evening did you say? I wish 
it had been any other time. 

Abs. Why ? there will be light enough : there will (as 
Sir Lucius says) "be very pretty small-sword light, 
though it will not do for a long shot." Confound his long 
shots ! 

Faulk. But I am myself a good deal ruffled by a dif- 
ference I have had with Julia. My vile tormenting tem- 
per has made me treat her so cruelly, that I shall not 
be myself till we are reconciled. 

Abs. By heavens! Faulkland, you don't deserve her! 

Enter Servant, gives Faulkland a letter^ and exit 
Faulk. O Jack! this is from Julia. I dread to open it! 
1 fear it may be to take a last leave! — perhaps to bid 
me return her letters, and restore — oh, how I suffer 
for my folly! 

[92] 



Ad Fourth 

Abs. Here, let me see. — ^Takes the letter and opens />.] 
Ay, a final sentence, indeed! — 'tis all over with you, 
faith! 

FaulL Nay, Jack, don't keep me in suspense ! 

Ahs. Hear then. — \Readsi\ As I am convinced that my 
dear Faulkland''s own refle£iions have already upbraided him 
for his last unk'indness to ?ne^ I will not add a word on the 
subje£i. I wish to speak with you as soon as possible. Tours 
ever and truly^ Julia. There's stubbornness and resent- 
ment for you! — [^Gives him the letter.^ Why, man, you 
don't seem one whit the happier at this! 

Faulk. Oh, yes, I am: but — but — 

Abs. Confound your buts ! you never hear anything 
that would make another man bless himself, but you im- 
mediately damn it with a but! 

Faulk. Now, Jack, as you are my friend, own hon- 
estly — don't you think there is something forward, some- 
thing indelicate, in this haste to forgive? Women should 
never sue for reconciliation : that should always come 
from us. They should retain their coldness till wooed 
to kindness ; and their pardon, like their love, should "not 
unsought be won." 

Abs. I have not patience to listen to you ! thou'rt in- 
corrigible! so say no more on the subjedl. I must go to 
settle a few matters. Let me see you before six, remem- 
ber, at my lodgings. A poor industrious devil like me, 
who have toiled, and drudged, and plotted to gain my 
ends, and am at last disappointed by other people's folly, 
may in pity be allowed to swear and grumble a little ; 
but a captious sceptic in love, a slave to fretfulness and 

[ 93] 



The Rivals 

whim, who has no difficulties but of his own creating, 
is a subje<5t more fit for ridicule than compassion! 

[Exit 
Faulk. I feel his reproaches ; yet I would not change 
this too exquisite nicety for the gross content with which 
he tramples on the thorns of love! — His engaging me 
in this duel has started an idea in my head, which I will 
instantly pursue. I '11 use it as the touchstone of Julia's 
sincerity and disinterestedness. If her love prove pure 
and sterling ore, my name will rest on it with honour ; 
and once I Ve stamped it there, I lay aside my doubts 
for ever! But if the dross of selfishness, the alloy of pride, 
predominate, 'twill be best to leave her as a toy for some 
less cautious fool to sigh for! [Exit 



[94] 



Aa V 

Scene I : Julia's Dressing-room 

Julia discovered alone 

JUL* How this message has alarmed me! what dread- 
ful accident can he mean ? why such charge to be 
alone? — O Faulkland! — how many unhappy moments 
— how many tears have you cost me. 

Enter Faulkland 

JuL What means this? — why this caution, Faulk- 
land? 

Faulk. Alas ! Julia, I am come to take a long farewell. 

yul. Heavens ! what do you mean ? 

Faulk. You see before you a wretch whose life is for- 
feited. Nay, start not! — the infirmity of my temper has 
drawn all this misery on me. I left you fretful and pas- 
sionate — an untoward accident drew me into a quarrel 
— the event is, that I must fly this kingdom instantly. 

Julia, had I been so fortunate as to have called you 
mine entirely, before this mischance had fallen on me, 

1 should not so deeply dread my banishment ! 

yul. My soul is oppressed with sorrow at the nature 
of your misfortune: had these adverse circumstances 
arisen from a less fatal cause, I should have felt strong 
comfort in the thought that I could now chase from 
your bosom every doubt of the warm sincerity of my 
love. My heart has long known no other guardian — 
I now entrust my person to your honour — we will fly 

[95] 



The Rivals 

together. When safe from pursuit, my father's will may 
be fulfilled — and I receive a legal claim to be, the part- 
ner of your sorrows and tenderest comforter. Then on 
the bosom of your wedded Julia, you may lull your 
keen regret to slumbering ; while virtuous love, with a 
cherub's hand, shall smooth the brow of upbraiding 
thought, and pluck the thorn from compundlion. 

Faulk. O Julia! I am bankrupt in gratitude! but the 
time is so pressing, it calls on you for so hasty a reso- 
lution. — Would you not wish some hours to weigh the 
advantages you forego, and what little compensation 
poor Faulkland can make you beside his solitary love ? 

Jul. I ask not a moment. No, Faulkland, I have 
loved you for yourself: and if I now, more than ever, 
prize the solemn engagement which so long has pledged 
us to each other, it is because it leaves no room for hard 
aspersions on my fame, and puts the seal of duty to an 
aft of love. But let us not linger. Perhaps this delay — 

Faulk, 'T will be better I should not venture out again 
till dark. Yet am I grieved to think what numberless 
distresses will press heavy on your gentle disposition! 

Jul. Perhaps your fortune may be forfeited by this 
unhappy aft. — I know not whether 'tis so; but sure 
that alone can never make us unhappy. The little I have 
will be sufficient to support us ; and exile never should 
be splendid. 

Faulk. Ay, but in such an abjeft state of life, my 
wounded pride perhaps may increase the natural fretful- 
ness of my temper, till I become a rude, morose com- 
panion, beyond your patience to endure. Perhaps the 

[96] 



Ad Fifth 

recolleftion of a deed my conscience cannot justify may 
haunt me in such gloomy and unsocial fits, that I shall 
hate the tenderness that would relieve me, break from 
your arms, and quarrel with your fondness ! 

Jul. If your thoughts should assume so unhappy a 
bent, you will the more want some mild and affection- 
ate spirit to watch over and console you : one who, by 
bearing your infirmities with gentleness and resignation, 
may teach you so to bear the evils of your fortune. 

Faulk. Julia, I have proved you to the quick! and 
with this useless device I throw away all my doubts. 
How shall I plead to be forgiven this last unworthy ef- 
fect of my restless, unsatisfied disposition ? 

Jul. Has no such disaster happened as you related ? 

Faulk. I am ashamed to own that it was pretended ; 
yet in pity, Julia, do not kill me with resenting a fault 
which never can be repeated : but sealing, this once, my 
pardon, let me to-morrow, in the face of Heaven, re- 
ceive my future guide and monitress, and expiate my 
past folly by years of tender adoration. 

Jul. Hold, Faulkland ! — that you are free from a 
crime, which I before feared to name. Heaven knows 
how sincerely I rejoice ! These are tears of thankfulness 
for that ! But that your cruel doubts should have urged 
you to an imposition that has wrung my heart gives me 
now a pang more keen than I can express ! 

Faulk. By heavens ! Julia — 

Jul. Yet hear me. — My father loved you, Faulkland ! 
and you preserved the life that tender parent gave me; 
in his presence I pledged my hand — joyfully pledged 

[97 ] 



The Rivals 

it — where before I had given my heart. When, soon 
after, I lost that parent, it seemed to me that Providence 
had, in Faulkland, shovv^n me whither to transfer, with- 
out a pause, my grateful duty, as well as my affec- 
tion : hence I have been content to bear from you what 
pride and delicacy would have forbid me from another. 
I will not upbraid you by repeating how you have tri- 
fled with my sincerity — 

Faulk. I confess it all! yet hear — 

Jul. After such a year of trial, I might have flattered 
myself that I should not have been insulted with a new 
probation of my sincerity, as cruel as unnecessary! I 
now see it is not in your nature to be content or con- 
fident in love. With this convidlion — I never will be 
yours. While I had hopes that my persevering atten- 
tion and unreproaching kindness might in time reform 
your temper, I should have been happy to have gained 
a dearer influence over you ; but I will not furnish you 
with a licensed power to keep alive an incorrigible fault 
at the expense of one who never would contend with 
you. 

Faulk. Nay, but, Julia, by my soul and honour, if 
after this — 

Jul. But one word more. — As my faith has once 
been given to you, I never will barter it with another. 
— I shall pray for your happiness with the truest sin- 
cerity ; and the dearest blessing I can ask of Heaven to 
send you will be to charm you from that unhappy 
temper which alone has prevented the performance of 
our solemn engagement. — All I request oi you is, that 

[98] 



Aa Fifth 

you will yourself refleft upon this infirmity, and when 
you number up the many true delights it has deprived 
you of, let it not be your least regret, that it lost you 
the love of one — who would have followed you in beg- 
gary through the world! \^Exit 
Faulk. She's gone — for ever! — There was an awful 
resolution in her manner, that riveted me to my place. 
— O fool! — dolt! — barbarian! Cursed as I am, with 
more imperfe6lions than my fellow wretches, kind for- 
tune sent a heaven-gifted cherub to my aid, and, like a 
ruffian, I have driven her from my side! — I must now 
haste to my appointment. Well, my mind is tuned for 
such a scene. I shall wish only to become a principal 
in it, and reverse the tale my cursed folly put me up- 
on forging here. — O Love! — tormentor! — fiend! — 
whose influence, like the moon's, a6ling on men of dull 
souls, makes idiots of them, but, meeting subtler spirits, 
betrays their course and urges sensibility to madness ! 

{Exit 

Enter Lydia and Maid 

Maid. My mistress, ma'am, I know, was just here 
now — perhaps she is only in the next room. [Exit 

Lyd. Heigh-ho ! Though he has used me so, this fel- 
low runs strangely in my head. I believe one le6ture 
from my grave cousin will make me recall him. — [Re- 
enter Julia.] O Julia, I am come to you with such an ap- 
petite for consolation. — Lud! child, what's the matter 
with you? You have been crying! — I'll be hanged if 
that Faulkland has not been tormenting you! 

Jul. You mistake the cause of my uneasiness! — 

LOfC. [99] 



The Rivals 

Something has flurried me a little. Nothing that you 
can guess at. — [AsideJ\ I would not accuse Faulkland 
to a sister! 

Lyd, Ah! whatever vexations you may have, I can 
assure you mine surpass them. You know who Beverley 
proves to be ? 

yul, I will now own to you, Lydia, that Mr. Faulk- 
land had before informed me of the whole affair. Had 
young Absolute been the person you took him for I 
should not have accepted your confidence on the subje6t, 
without a serious endeavour to counteract your caprice. 

Lyd. So, then, I see I have been deceived by every 
one! But I don't care — I'll never have him. 

JuL Nay, Lydia — 

Lyd. Why, is it not provoking ? when I thought we 
were coming to the prettiest distress imaginable, to find 
myself made a mere Smithfield bargain of at last! There, 
had I projected one of the most sentimental elope- 
ments! — so becoming a disguise! — so amiable a ladder 
of ropes! — Conscious moon — four horses — Scotch 
parson — with such surprise to Mrs. Malaprop — and 
such paragraphs in the newspapers! — Oh, I shall die 
with disappointment. 

yuL I don't wonder at it! 

Lyd. Now — sad reverse! — what have I to expeCt, 
but, after a deal of flimsy preparations with a bishop's 
licence, and my aunt's blessing, to go simpering up to 
the altar; or perhaps be cried three times in a country 
church, and have an unmannerly fat clerk ask the con- 
sent of every butcher in the parish to join John Abso- 

[ 100 ] 



'-^bsnbSlixi- 



How often have I stole forth, in the coldest night in 
January ' ' 



w\ \W'/.\\ ■.■ .vA^-i 'i^\^ "V ^'S\A'i\':i\^x'. \ "/WAN v>^iv? ^M'in *' 



Ad Fifth 

lute and Lydia Languish, spinster! Oh that I should 
live to hear myself called Spinster! 

Jul. Melancholy indeed! 

Lyd. How mortifying, to remember the dear delicious 
shifts I used to be put to, to gain half a minute's con- 
versation with this fellow! — How often have I stole 
forth, in the coldest night in January, and found him in 
the garden, stuck like a dripping statue ! There would 
he kneel to me in the snow, and sneeze and cough so 
pathetically! he shivering with cold and I with appre- 
hension! and while the freezing blast numbed our 
joints, how warmly would he press me to pity his flame, 
and glow with mutual ardour! — Ah, Julia, that was 
something like being in love. 

Jul. If I were in spirits, Lydia, I should chide you 
only by laughing heartily at you; but it suits more the 
situation of my mind, at present, earnestly to entreat 
you not to let a man, who loves you with sincerity, suf- 
fer that unhappiness from your caprice, which I know 
too well caprice can inflift. 

Lyd, O Lud ! what has brought my aunt here ? 

Enter Mrs. Malaprop, Fag, and David 
Mrs. Mai. So! so!^ here's fine work! — here's fine 
suicide, parricide, and simulation, going on in the fields! 
and Sir Anthony not to be found to prevent the anti- 
strophe! 

Jul. For Heaven's sake, madam, what's the meaning 
of this ? 

Mrs. Mai. That gentleman can tell you — 'twas he 
enveloped the affair to me. 

[ '01 ] 



The Rivals 

Lyd. Do, sir, will you, inform us? [71? Fag 

Fag, Ma'am, I should hold myself very deficient in 
every requisite that forms the man of breeding, if I de- 
layed a moment to give all the information in my povi^er 
to a lady so deeply interested in the affair as you are. 

Lyd, But quick! quick, sir! 

Fag. True, ma'am, as you say, one should be quick 
in divulging matters of this nature; for should we be 
tedious, perhaps while we are flourishing on the subjeft, 
two or three lives may be lost! 

Lyd, O patience! — Do, ma'am, for Heaven's sake 
tell us what is the matter ? 

Mrs.Mal.Why^ murder's the matter! slaughter's the 
matter! killing's the matter! — but he can tell you the 
perpendiculars. 

Lyd. Then, prithee, sir, be brief. 

Fag. Why then, ma'am, as to murder — I cannot take 
upon me to say — and as to slaughter, or manslaughter, 
that will be as the jury finds it. 

Lyd. But who, sir — who are engaged in this? 

Fag. Faith, ma'am, one is a young gentleman whom 
I should be very sorry anything was to happen to — a 
very pretty behaved gentleman! We have lived much 
together, and always on terms. 

Lyd, But who is this ? who ? who ? who ? 

Fag. My master, ma'am — my master — I speak of 
my master. 

Lyd. Heavens! What, Captain Absolute! 

Mrs, Mai. Oh, to be sure, you are frightened now! 

[ 102 ] 



Ad Fifth 

Jul. But who are with him, sir ? 

Fag. As to the rest, ma'am, this gentleman can in- 
form you better than I. 

Jul Do speak, friend. \ro David 

Dav, Look'ee, my lady — by the mass! there's mis- 
chief going on. Folks don't use to meet for amusement 
with firearms, firelocks, fire-engines, fire-screens, fire- 
office, and the devil knows what other crackers beside! 
— This, my lady, I say, has an angry favour. 

Jul But who is there beside Captain Absolute, friend ? 

Dav. My poor master — under favour for mention- 
ing him first. You know me, my lady — I am David — 
and my master, of course, is, or was^ Squire Acres. 
Then comes Squire Faulkland. 

Jul. Do, ma'am, let us instantly endeavour to pre- 
vent mischief. 

Mrs. Mai. Oh, iy\ — it would be very inelegant in us : 
— we should only participate things. 

Dav. Ah! do, Mrs. Aunt, save a few lives — they are 
desperately given, believe me.— Above all, there is that 
bloodthirsty Philistine, Sir Lucius O'Trigger. 

Mrs. Mai. Sir Lucius O'Trigger? Oh, mercy! have 
they drawn poor little dear Sir Lucius into the scrape ? 
— Why, how you stand, girl! you have no more feeling 
than one of the Derbyshire petrifactions! 

Lyd. What are we to do, madam ? 

Mrs. Mai. Why, fly with the utmost felicity, to be 
sure, to prevent mischief! — Here, friend, you can show 
us the place? 

[ 103 ] 



The Rivals 

Fag, If you please, ma'am, I will condudt you. — 
David, do you look for Sir Anthony. \^Ex'it David 

Mrs. Mai. Come, girls! this gentleman will exhort 
us. — Come, sir, you're our envoy — lead the way, and 
we'll precede. 

Fag. Not a step before the ladies for the world ! 

Mrs. Mai. You're sure you know the spot? 

Fag. I think I can find it, ma'am ; and one good 
thing is, we shall hear the report of the pistols as we 
draw near, so we can't well miss them; — never fear, 

\Exeunt^ he talking 



Scene II : The South Parade 

Enter Captain Absolute, putting his sword under his 
great coat 

Ahs. A sword seen in the streets of Bath would raise 
as great an alarm as a mad dog. — How provoking this 
is in Faulkland! — never punctual! I shall be obliged to 
go without him at last. — Oh, the devil! here's Sir An- 
thony! — how shall I escape him? 

[Muffles up his face^ and takes a circle to go off 

Enter Sir Anthony Absolute 
Sir Anth. How one may be deceived at a little dis- 
tance! only that I see he don't know me, I could have 
sworn that was Jack! — Hey! Gad's life! it is. — Why, 
Jack, what are you afraid of? hey! — sure I'm right. 
— Why, Jack, — Jack Absolute! [Goes up to him 

Ahs. Really, sir, you have the advantage of me: — I 

[ 104 ] 



A<a Fifth 

don't remember ever to have had the honour — my 
name is Saunderson, at your service. 

Sir Anth. Sir, I beg your pardon — I took you — hey ? 
— w^hy, zounds! it is — Stay — [Looks up to his face. '] So, 
so — your humble servant, Mr. Saunderson! — Why, 
you scoundrel, what tricks are you after nov^^ ? 

Jbs. Oh, a joke, sir, a joke! — I came here on pur- 
pose to look for you, sir. 

Sir Anth. You did! w^ell, I am glad you were so 
lucky : — but what are you muffled up so for? — what's 
this for? — hey! 

Abs. 'Tis cool, sir; isn't it? — rather chilly somehow 
— but I shall be late — I have a particular engagement. 

Sir Anth. Stay! — Why, I thought you were looking 
for me? — Pray, Jack, where is't you are going? 

Ahs. Going, sir! 

Sir Anth. Ay, — where are you going? 

Abs. Where am I going? 

Sir Anth. You unmannerly puppy! 

Abs. I was going, sir, to — to — to — to Lydia — sir, 
to Lydia — to make matters up if I could; — and I was 
looking for you, sir, to — to — 

Sir Anth. To go with you, I suppose. — Well, come 
along. 

Abs. Oh! Zounds! no, sir, not for the world! — I 
wished to meet with you, sir, — to — to — to — You find 
it cool, I'm sure, sir — you'd better not stay out. 

Sir Anth. Cool! — not at all.— Well, Jack— and 
what will you say to Lydia ? 

[ i°5] 



The Rivals 

Ahs, Oh, sir, beg her pardon, humour her — promise 
and vow : but I detain you, sir — consider the cold air 
on your gout. 

Sir Anth. Oh, not at all! — not at all! I'm in no 
hurry. — Ah! Jack, you youngsters, when once you are 
wounded here — \Puttinghis hand to Captain Absolvt'e's 
breast.^ Hey! what the deuce have you got here ? 

Abs. Nothing, sir — nothing. 

Sir Anth. What's this? — here's something damned 
hard. 

Abs. Oh, trinkets, sir! trinkets! — a bauble for Lydia! 

Sir Anth. Nay, let me see your taste. — [Pulls his 
coat open^ the sword fa lh.^^v\nktts\ — a bauble for Lydia! 
— Zounds! sirrah, you are not going to cut her throat, 
are you? 

Abs. Ha! ha! ha! — I thought it would divert you, 
sir, though I didn't mean to tell you till afterwards. 

Sir Anth. You did n't? — Yes, this is a very diverting 
trinket, truly! 

Abs. Sir, I'll explain to you. — You know, sir, Lydia 
is romantic, devilish romantic, and very absurd of course : 
now, sir, I intend, if she refuses to forgive me, to un- 
sheath this sword, and swear — I'll fall upon its point, 
and expire at her feet! 

Sir Anth. Fall upon a fiddlestick's end! — why, I sup- 
pose it is the very thing that would please her. — Get 
along, you fool ! 

Abs. Well, sir, you shall hear of my success — you 
shall hear. — O Lydia! — forgive me^ or this pointed steel 
— says I. 



■A 




T'ou unmannerly puppy ! ' ' 



your tasi 

/iv/A. j'i'i'iiikcts! — a bauble tor Lyil,^ 

uoi5 -Aii- nor '-'■(iina to cut h(^r thrca! 



\'f. Hal ha! hai — 1 tr would divert you 

, thour' ' ' '• " - , yuii till afterwards. 

Si?- J , this is n x^erv diverting 



rii falJ 



'' V 



^<\'\NX<\ ■A-^'iWWXiW^^v. ao"t 



Ad Fifth 

Sir Anth. O booby! stab away and welcome — says she. 
— Get along and damn your trinkets! 

[Exit Captain Absolute 
Enter David, running 

Dav, Stop him! Stop him! Murder! Thief! Fire! 

— Stop fire! Stop fire! — O Sir Anthony— call! call! 
bid 'm stop! Murder! Fire! 

Sir Jnth.Firel Murder! — Where? 

Dav. Oons! he's out of sight! and I'm out of breath 
for my part! O Sir Anthony, why didn't you stop him ? 
why didn't you stop him? 

Sir Anth, Zounds! the fellow's mad! — Stop whom? 
stop Jack ? 

Dav. Ay, the captain, sir! — there's murder and 
slaughter — 

Sir Anth. Murder! 

Dav. Ay, please you, Sir Anthony, there's all kinds 
of murder, all sorts of slaughter to be seen in the fields : 
there's fighting going on, sir — bloody sword-and-gun 
fighting! 

Sir Anth, Who are going to fight, dunce ? 

Dav, Everybody that I know of. Sir Anthony: — 
everybody is going to fight, my poor master, Sir Lucius 
O 'Trigger, your son, the captain — 

Sir Anth. Oh, the dog! — I see his tricks. — Do you 
know the place ? 

Dav. King's-Mead-Fields. 

Sir Anth. You know the way ? 

Dav, Not an inch; but I'll call the mayor — alder- 

[ 107] 



The Rivals 

men — constables — churchwardens — and beadles — we 
can't be too many to part them. 

Sir Jnth. Come along — give me your shoulder ! we'll 
get assistance as we go — the lying villain — Well, I shall 
be in such a frenzy! — So — this was the history of his 
trinkets! I'll bauble him! [Exeunt 



Scene III : King's-Mead-Fields 
Enter Sir Lucius O'Trigger and Acres, with pistols 

Acres, By my valour ! then. Sir Lucius, forty yards is 
a good distance. Odds levels and aims! — I say it is a good 
distance. 

Sir Luc, Is it for muskets or small field-pieces? Upon 
my conscience, Mr. Acres, you must leave those things 
to me. — Stay now — I'll show you. — [Measures paces 
along the stage.'] There now, that is a very pretty distance 
— a pretty gentleman's distance. 

Jcres, Zounds! we might as well fight in a sentry- 
box ! I tell you, Sir Lucius, the farther he is ofF, the cooler 
I shall take my aim. 

Sir Luc. Faith ! then I suppose you would aim at him 
best of all if he was out of sight! 

Acres. No, Sir Lucius ; but I should think forty or 
eight-and-thirty yards — 

Sir Luc. Pho! pho! nonsense! three or four feet be- 
tween the mouths of your pistols is as good as a mile. 

Acres. Odds bullets, no! — by my valour! there is no 
merit in killing him so near : do, my dear Sir Lucius, let 

[ i°8 1 



** How would you receive the gentleman^ s shot ? 



*> t<55^l 



l'wV^W^VWW^^ 'i^t ^V5hi^-r «0I(_ \i\v50^» \»^W » ' 



A<a Fifth 

me bring him down at a long shot: — a long shot, Sir 
Lucius, if you love me ! 

Sir Luc. Well, the gentleman's friend and I must 
settle that. — But tell me now, Mr. Acres, in case of an 
accident, is there any little will or commission I could 
execute for you ? 

Jcres. I am much obliged to you. Sir Lucius — but I 
don't understand — 

Sir Luc. Why, you may think there's no being shot 
at without a little risk — and if an unlucky bullet should 
carry a quietus with it — I say it will be no time then 
to be bothering you about family matters. 

Jcres. A quietus! 

Sir Luc. For instance, now — if that should be the 
case — would you choose to be pickled and sent home ? 
— or would it be the same to you to lie here in the Ab- 
bey ? — I'm told there is very snug lying in the Abbey. 

Jcres. Pickled! — Snug lying in the Abbey! — Odds 
tremors! Sir Lucius, don't talk so! 

Sir Luc. I suppose, Mr. Acres, you never were en- 
gaged in an affair of this kind before ? 

Jcres. No, Sir Lucius, never before. 

Sir Luc. Ah! that's a pity — there's nothing like be- 
ing used to a thing. — Pray now, how would you re- 
ceive the gentleman's shot ? 

Acres. Odds files! — I've practised that — there, Sir 
Lucius — there. — [Puts Imnself in an attitude.'] A side- 
front, hey? Odd! I'll make myself small enough: I'll 
stand edgeways. 

Sir Luc. Now — you're quite out — for if you stand 

[109] 



The Rivals 

so when I take my aim — [Levelling at htm 

Acres. Zounds! Sir Lucius— ^ are you sure it is not 
cocked ? 

Sir Luc. Never fear. 

Jcres. But — but — you don't know — it may go off 
of its own head ! 

Sir Luc. Pho! be easy. — Well, now if I hit you in 
the body my bullet has a double chance — for if it 
misses a vital part of your right side — 't will be very hard 
if it don't succeed on the left! 

Jcres. A vital part! 

Sir Luc. But, there — fix yourself so — [Placing him] 
— let him see the broadside of your full front — there — 
now a ball or two may pass clean through your body, 
and never do any harm at all. 

Jcres. Clean through me! — a ball or two clean 
through me! 

Sir Luc. Ay — may they — and it is much the gen- 
teelest attitude into the bargain. 

Acres. Look'ee! Sir Lucius — I'd just aslieve be shot 
in an awkward posture as a genteel one — so, by my 
valour! I will stand edgeways. 

<S/V Luc. [Looking at his watch.^ Sure they don't mean 
to disappoint us — Hah! — no, faith — I think I see them 
coming. 

Acres. Hey! — what! — coming! — 

Sir Luc. Ay. — Who are those yonder getting over the 
stile ? 

Acres. There are two of them indeed! — well — let 

[ "o] 



Aa Fifth 

them come — hey, Sir Lucius! — we — we — we — we 
— won't run. 

Sir Luc. Run! 

Acres. No — I say — we won't run, by my valour! 

Sir Luc. What the devil's the matter with you? 

Acres. Nothing — nothing — my dear friend — my 
dear Sir Lucius — but I — I — I don't feel quite so bold, 
somehow, as I did. 

Sir Luc. Oh, ^yl — consider your honour. 

Acres. Ay — true — my honour. Do, Sir Lucius, edge 
in a word or two every now and then about my honour. 

Sir Luc. Well, here they're coming. \^Looking 

Acres. Sir Lucius — if I wa'n't with you, I should al- 
most think I was afraid. — If my valour should leave 
me! — Valour will come and go. 

Sir Luc. Then pray keep it fast, while you have it. 

Acres. Sir Lucius — I doubt it is going — yes — my 
valour is certainly going! — it is sneaking off! — I feel 
it oozing out as it were, at the palms of my hands! 

Sir Luc. Your honour — your honour. — Here they 
are. 

Acres. Oh, mercy! — now — that I was safe at Clod- 
Hall ! or could be shot before I was aware ! 

Enter Faulkland and Captain Absolute 
Sir Luc. Gentlemen, your most obedient. — Hah! — 
what. Captain Absolute! — So, I suppose, sir, you are 
come here, just like myself — to do a kind office, first 
for your friend — then to proceed to business on your 
own account. 

[ "' ] 



The Rivals 

Acres. What, Jack ! — my dear Jack ! — my dear friend ! 

Ahs. Hark'ee, Bob, Beverley's at hand. 

iS/r Luc. Well, Mr. Acres, — I don't blame your sa- 
luting the gentleman civilly. — \To Faulkland.] So, 
Mr. Beverley, if you'll choose your w^eapons, the cap- 
tain and I vv^ill measure the ground. 

Faulk. My weapons, sir. 

Acres. Odds life! Sir Lucius, I'm not going to fight 
Mr. Faulkland ; these are my particular friends. 

5/V Luc. What, sir, did you not come here to fight 
Mr. Acres? 

Faulk. Not I, upon my word, sir. 

Sir Luc. Well, now, that's mighty provoking! But I 
hope, Mr. Faulkland, as there are three of us come on 
purpose for the game — you won't be so cantankerous 
as to spoil the party by sitting out. 

Ahs. O pray, Faulkland, fight to oblige Sir Lucius. 

Faulk. Nay, if Mr. Acres is so bent on the matter — 

Acres. No, no, Mr. Faulkland; — Pll bear my dis- 
appointment like a Christian. — Look'ee, Sir Lucius, 
there's no occasion at all for me to fight ; and if it is the 
same to you, I'd as lieve let it alone. 

iS/V Luc. Observe me, Mr. Acres — I must not be 
trifled with. You have — certainly challenged somebody 
— and you came here to fight him. — Now, if that gen- 
tleman is willing to represent him — I can't see, for my 
soul, why it isn't just the same thing. 

Acres. Why no — Sir Lucius — I tell you 'tis one Bev- 
erley I've challenged — a fellow, you see, that dare not 

[ "2] 



•j'::'^cK:-u<xi', 



IVhat, Jack ! - my dear Jack ! " 



*'\^^^X1 ^^^^ TW - \i-iSiX '^^'^'^^ 



Ad Fifth 

show his face! — If he were here, I 'd make him give up 
his pretensions direftly! — 

Abs, Hold, Bob — let me set you right — there is no 
such man as Beverley in the case. — The person who 
assumed that name is before you ; and as his pretensions 
are the same in both charadlers, he is ready to support 
them in whatever way you please. 

Sir Luc, Well, this is lucky. — Now you have an op- 
portunity — 

Acres. What, quarrel with my dear friend Jack Ab- 
solute? not if he were fifty Beverleys! Zounds! Sir Lu- 
cius, you would not have me so unnatural. 

Sir Luc. Upon my conscience, Mr. Acres, your valour 
has oo%ed away with a vengeance. 

Acres. Not in the least! Odds backs and abettors! 
I'll be your second with all my heart — and if you should 
get a quietus you may command me entirely. I'll get you 
snug lying in the Abbey here; or pickle you, and send you 
over to Blunderbuss-Hall, or anything of the kind, with 
the greatest pleasure. 

Sir Luc. Pho! pho! you are little better than a coward. 

Acres. Mind, gentlemen, he calls me a coward; coward 
was the word, by my valour. 

Sir Luc, Well, sir? 

Acres. Look'ee, Sir Lucius, 'tis n't that I mind the 
word coward — coward may be said in joke — But if 
you had called me 2, poltroon^ odds daggers and balls — 

Sir Luc. Well, sir ? 

Acres. — I should have thought you a very ill-bred man. 

Sir Luc, Pho! you are beneath my notice. 

[ 113] 



The Rivals 

Ahs. Nay, Sir Lucius, you can't have a better second 
than my friend Acres — He is a most determined dog — 
called in the country Fighting Bob. — He generally kills 
a man a week — don't you, Bob? 

Acres. Ay — at home! — 

jS/r Luc. Well, then, captain, 'tis we must begin — so 
come out, my little counsellor — \^Draws his sword'] — 
and ask the gentleman whether he will resign the lady 
without forcing you to proceed against him ? 

Jbs. Come on then, sir — \_Draws'\-, since you won't 
let it be an amicable suit, here's my reply. 

Enter Sir Anthony Absolute, David, Mrs. Mala- 
PROP, Lydia, and Julia 

Dav. Knock 'em all down, sweet Sir Anthony ; knock 
down my master in particular; and bind his hands over 
to their good behaviour! 

Sir Anth. Put up. Jack, put up, or I shall be in a 
frenzy — how came you in a duel, sir? 

y//*;. Faith, sir, that gentleman can tell you better than 
I ; 't was he called on me, and you know, sir, I serve 
his majesty. 

Sir Anth. Here's a pretty fellow; I catch him going 
to cut a man's throat, and he tells me he serves his ma- 
jesty! — Zounds! sirrah, then how durst you draw the 
king's sword against one of his subjects? 

Ahs. Sir, I tell you! that gentleman called me out, 
without explaining his reasons. 

Sir Anth. Gad! sir, how came you to call my son out, 
without explaining your reasons? 

[ "4 ] 



Aa Fifth 

Sir Luc. Your son, sir, insulted me in a manner which 
my honour could not brook. 

Sir Anth, Zounds! Jack, how durst you insult the 
gentleman in a manner which his honour could not 
brook ? 

Mrs, Mai. Come, come, let's have no honour before 
ladies — Captain Absolute, come here — How could you 
intimidate us so? — Here's Lydia has been terrified to 
death for you. 

Ahs. For fear I should be killed, or escape, ma'am ? 

Mrs. Mai. Nay, no delusions to the past — Lydia is 
convinced; speak, child. 

Sir Luc. With your leave, ma'am, I must put in a 
word here — I believe I could interpret the young lady's 
silence. — Now mark — 

Lyd. What is it you mean, sir? 

Sir Luc. Come, come, Delia, we must be serious now 
— this is no time for trifling. 

Lyd. 'T is true, sir ; and your reproof bids me offer 
this gentleman my hand, and solicit the return of his 
affeftions. 

Abs. Oh ! my little angel, say you so ? — Sir Lucius — 
I perceive there must be some mistake here, with regard 
to the affront which you affirm I have given you. I can 
only say that it could not have been intentional. And as 
you must be convinced that I should not fear to support 
a real injury — you shall now see that I am not ashamed 
to atone for an inadvertency — I ask your pardon. — But 
for this lady, while honoured with her approbation, I 
will support my claim against any man whatever. 

[ "5 ] 



The Rivals 

Sir Anth. Well said, Jack, and I '11 stand by you, my 
boy. 

Acres. Mind, I give up all my claim — I make no 
pretensions to anything in the world — and if I can't 
get a wife without fighting for her, by my valour! I'll 
live a bachelor. 

Sir Luc. Captain, give me your hand — an affront 
handsomely acknowledged becomes an obligation; — 
and as for the lady — if she chooses to deny her own 
handwriting, here — \_Takes out letters 

Mrs. Mai. Oh, he will dissolve my mystery! — Sir 
Lucius, perhaps there's some mistake, — perhaps I can 
illuminate — 

Sir Luc. Pray, old gentlewoman, don't interfere 
where you have no business. — Miss Languish, are you 
my Delia, or not ? 

Lyd. Indeed, Sir Lucius, I am not. 

\lValks aside with Captain Absolute 

Mrs. Mai. Sir Lucius O'Trigger — ungrateful as you 
are — I own the soft impeachment — pardon my blushes, 
I am Delia. 

Sir Luc. You Delia — pho ! pho! be easy. 

Mrs. Mai. Why, thou barbarous Vandyke — those 
letters are mine — When you are more sensible of my 
benignity — perhaps I may be brought to encourage 
your addresses. 

Sir Luc. Mrs. Malaprop, I am extremely sensible of 

your condescension ; and whether you or Lucy have put 

this trick on me, I am equally beholden to you. — And 

to show you I am not ungrateful. Captain Absolute, 

[ ii6] 



Aa Fifth 

since you have taken that lady from me, I'll give you 
my Delia into the bargain. 

Jhs. I am much obliged to you, Sir Lucius ; but here's 
my friend. Fighting Bob, unprovided for. 

Sir Luc. Hah! little Valour — here, will you make 
your fortune ? 

Acres, Odds w^rinkles! No. — But give me your hand. 
Sir Lucius, forget and forgive ; but if ever I give you a 
chance q{ pickling me again, say Bob Acres is a dunce, 
that's all. 

Sir Anth, Come, Mrs. Malaprop, don't be cast down 
— you are in your bloom yet. 

Mrs, Mai, O Sir Anthony — men are all barbarians. 
[All retire but Julia and Faulkland 

yul, [Aside J\ He seems dejedled and unhappy — not 
sullen ; there was some foundation, however, for the tale 
he told me — O woman! how true should be your judg- 
ment, when your resolution is so weak! 

Faulk, Julia! — how can I sue for what I so little de- 
serve? I dare not presume — yet Hope is the child of 
Penitence. 

yul. O Faulkland, you have not been more faulty 
in your unkind treatment of me, than I am now in 
wanting inclination to resent it. As my heart honestly 
bids me place my weakness to the account of love, I 
should be ungenerous not to admit the same plea for 
yours. 

Faulk. Now I shall be blest indeed ! 

Sir Anth. [Coming forward.^ What's going on here? 
— So you have been quarrelling too, I warrant! — Come, 

[ "7 ] 



The Rivals 

Julia, I never interfered before ; but let me have a hand 
in the matter at last. — All the fault I have ever seen 
in my friend Faulkland seemed to proceed from w^hat 
he calls the delicacy and warmth of his affedlion for 
you. — There, marry him direftly, Julia; you'll find 
he'll mend surprisingly! [The rest come forward 

Sir Luc. Come, now, I hope there is no dissatisfied 
person, but what is content; for as I have been disap- 
pointed myself, it will be very hard if I have not the 
satisfa6lion of seeing other people succeed better — 

Acres. You are right, Sir Lucius. — So Jack, I wish 
you joy — Mr. Faulkland the same. — Ladies, — come 
now, to show you I'm neither vexed nor angry, odds 
labours and pipes! I'll order the fiddles in half an hour 
to the New Rooms — and I insist on your all meeting 
me there. 

Sir Anth. 'Gad! sir, I like your spirit; and at night 
we single lads will drink a health to the young couples, 
and a husband to Mrs. Malaprop. 

Faulk. Our partners are stolen from us. Jack — I hope 
to be congratulated by each other — yours for having 
checked in time the errors of an ill-dire6led imagination, 
which might have betrayed an innocent heart; and 
mine^ for having, by her gentleness and candour, re- 
formed the unhappy temper of one who by it made 
wretched whom he loved most, and tortured the heart 
he ought to have adored. 

Ahs. Well, Jack, we have both tasted the bitters, as well 
as the sweets of love; with this difference only, that you 
always prepared the bitter cup for yourself, while / — 

[ "8] 



Aca Fifth 

Lyd. Was always obliged to me for it, hey! Mr. Mo- 
desty? — But come, no more of that — our happiness is 
now as unalloyed as general. 

Jul. Then let us study to preserve it so: and while 
Hope pi6lures to us a flattering scene of future bliss, let 
us deny its pencil those colours which are too bright to 
be lasting. — When hearts deserving happiness would 
unite their fortunes, Virtue would crown them with an 
unfading garland of modest hurtless flowers; but ill- 
judging Passion will force the gaudier rose into the 
wreath, whose thorn offends them when its leaves are 
dropped ! [Exeunt omnes 



[ "9l 



Epilogue 

BY THE AUTHOR 

Spoken by Mrs. BuLKLEY 

LADIES, ior you — I heard our poet say — 
J He'd try to coax some moral from his play: 
"One moral's plain," cried I, " without more fuss: 
Man's social happiness all rests on us : 
Through all the drama — whether damn'd or not — 
Love gilds the scene^ and women guide the plot. 
From every rank obedience is our due — 
D 'ye doubt ? — The world's great stage shall prove it true." 

The cit, well skill'd to shun domestic strife, 
Will sup abroad; but first he'll ask his wife: 
John Troty his friend, for once will do the same, 
But then — he'll just step home to tell his dame. 

The surly Squire at noon resolves to rule. 
And half the day — Zounds! madam is a fool! 
Convinced at night, the vanquish'd vidlor says, 
Ah, Kate ! you women have such coaxing ways! 

The. jolly Toper chides each tardy blade, 
Till reeling Bacchus calls on Love for aid : 
Then with each toast he sees fair bumpers swim, 
And kisses Chloe on the sparkling brim! 

Nay, I have heard that Statesmen — great and wise — 
Will sometimes counsel with a lady's eyes! 
The servile suitors watch her various face. 
She smiles preferment, or she frowns disgrace. 
Curtsies a pension here — there nods a place. 

[ '21 ] 



The Rivals 

Nor with less awe, in scenes of humbler life, 
Is viewed the mistress^ or is heard the wife. 
The poorest peasant of the poorest soil, 
The child of poverty, and heir to toil. 
Early from radiant Love's impartial light 
Steals one small spark to cheer this world of night : 
Dear spark! that oft through winter's chilling woes 
Is all the warmth his little cottage knows! 

The wandering Tar^ who not for years has press'd 
The widow'd partner of his day of rest. 
On the cold deck, far from her arms removed. 
Still hums the ditty which his Susan loved ; 
And while around the cadence rude is blown, 
The boatswain whistles in a softer tone. 

The Soldiery fairly proud of wounds and toil, 
Pants for the triumph of his Nancy's smile; 
But ere the battle should he list' her cries, 
The lover trembles — and the hero dies! 
That heart, by war and honour steel'd to fear. 
Droops on a sigh, and sickens at a tear! 

But ye more cautious, ye nice-judging few, 
Who give to Beauty only Beauty's due. 
Though friends to Love — ye view with deep regret 
Our conquests marr'd, our triumphs incomplete. 
Till polish'd Wit more lasting charms disclose, 
And Judgment fix the darts which Beauty throws! 

In female breasts did sense and merit rule, 
The lover's mind would ask no other school ; 
Shamed into sense, the scholars of our eyes, 
Our beaux from gallantry would soon be wise ; 
Would gladly light, their homage to improve, 
The lamp of Knowledge at the torch of Love! 



Notes 



Notes 

Preface 

" Ij^ AD ED ideas fioat in tie fancy like lalf-forgotten dreams; 
3l/ and the imagination in its fullest enjoyments becomes sus- 
picious of its offsprings and doubts whether it has created or 
adopted^ 

This passage was quoted by Burgoyne, in the preface of the 
Heiress. The same thought is to be found also in the Auto- 
crat of the Breakfast-Table^ where Dr. Holmes said, "I never 
wrote a line of verse that seemed to me comparatively good, 
but it appeared old at once, and often as if it had been bor- 
rowed." A little earlier in the same chapter, the Autocrat had 
declared the law which governs in such cases : "When a per- 
son of fair character for literary honesty uses an image such 
as another has employed before him, the presumption is that 
he has struck upon it independently, or unconsciously re- 
called it, supposing it his own." 

** // is not without pleasure that I catch at an opportunity of justi- 
fying myself from the charge of intending any national reflection 
in the char a ^er of Sir Lucius O' Trigger." 
In his Retrospections of the Stage, John Bernard, who was pre- 
sent at the unfortunate first performance of the Rivals, has 
declared that the audience was indifferent to Sir Lucius as 
afted by Lee. When the play was revised, Clinch took the 
part. Why any one should objedl to Sir Lucius, it is now dif- 
ficult to discover. Sir Lucius is one of the best of stage-Irish- 
men, and he is emphatically an Irish gentleman. 

A61I 

Scene I 
'''Thou as: But pray, Mr. Fag,what kind ofa place is this BathP'^ 
It is not easy now to understand fully the extraordinary 

["5] 



The Rivals 

brilliancy of Bath after Beau Nash had organized Society- 
there. The manners and customs of Bath, as they were a 
very few years before the date of the Rivals^ may be seen 
in Anstey's 'New Bath Guide, first published jn 1766; and 
Anstey's lively verses prove that the town offered unusual 
advantages to the social satirist and the comic dramatist. In 
Hufnphrey Clinker, Smollett has left us an elaborate descrip- 
tion of the place and the people to be met there. Foote's 
comedy, the Maid of Bath, was a dramatic setting of the ro- 
mantic story of Miss Linley, Sheridan's wife. The best ac- 
count of Bath at this time is to be found in a French book, A. 
Barbeau's Une Ville d'Eaux Jnglaise (Paris : Picard, 1904). 

Scene II 
"Lydia : And could not you get * The Reward of Constancy^ ?'* 
Miss Lydia Languish seems to have had a catholic taste in 
fiftion. Most of the books she sought were novelties : The 
Mistakes of the Heart and T/je Tears of Sensibility were trans- 
lations from the French, published in 1773. The Delicate 
Distress and The Gordian Knot had been published together 
in four volumes in the same year. The Memoirs of a Lady of 
Quality {i.e. Lady Vane) were included in Smollett's Pere- 
grine Pickle, published first in 175 1 ; Humphrey Clinker ^id 
not appear till 1771. The Sentimental Journey had been ori- 
ginally published in 1768, in two volumes. 

"Lydia: Here, my dear Lucy, hide these books." 
Miss Languish was evidently fond of Smollett. After Pere- 
grine Pickle, with its Memoirs of a Lady of Quality, and 
after Humphrey Clinker, comes Roderick Rando?n, published 
in 1748. The Innocent Adultery was the second title of South- 
erne's tragedy. The Fatal Marriage, revived as Isabella; or, 
the Fatal Marriage, for Mrs. Siddons, after Sheridan became 
the manager of Drury Lane Theatre. A century ago English 
plays were read as French plays are still. Henry Mackenzie's 
Man of Feeling had first appeared in 177 1. Mrs. Chapone's 

[ 126 ] 



Notes 

Letters on the Improvement of the Mi?id^ addressed to her niece, 
had been published in 1773 in two volumes ; and Lord Ches- 
terfield's Letters, written in 1768, had not been given to the 
world until 1774. From notes found by Moore, we know that 
Sheridan had begun to draft a criticism of Lord Chesterfield's 
precepts just before he sat down resolutely to the writing of 
this play. 

"Mrs. Malaprop: ^Tis safest in matrimony to begin with a 
little aversion^ 

With a readiness recalling Sheridan's own promptness in 
repartee, George Canning quoted this assertion of Mrs. 
Malaprop's, in a speech delivered in the House of Com- 
mons in 1825. 

"Sir. Anthony: Well, I must leave you^ 
The traditional business of Sir Anthony's departure requires 
him to bow and gain the door, and then to return to say the 
next clause as though it had just occurred to him. This 
leave-taking, protracted by Mrs. Malaprop's elaborate cour- 
tesies, is repeated two or three times before Sir Anthony 
finally takes himself off. 

" Lucy : And a black padusoy.^^ 

Paduasoy was a particular kind of silk stuff, deriving its name 

from the Italian town Padua, and the French word soie^ silk. 

Ad II 

Scene I 

"Fag: / beg pardon, sir — / beg pardon — but, with submis- 
sion, a lie is nothing unless one supports it. Sir, whe?iez>er I draw 
on my invention for a good current lie, I always forge indorse- 
ments as well as the bill.'* 

This use of mercantile technicalities was not uncommon 
with Sheridan ; and Fag's idioms may be compared with 

[ '27] 



The Rivals 

Sir Peter Teazle's declaration (^School for Scandal^ A61 II, 
Scene II) that he "would have law merchant," for those 
who report what they hear, so that, "in all cases of slander 
currency, whenever the drawer of the He was not to be found, 
the injured parties should have a right to come on any of 
the indorsers." 

" Enter Faulkland." 

Faulkland is the name of two prominent characters, a father 
and a son, in the Memoirs of Miss Sidney Biddulph, the novel 
written by Mrs. Frances Sheridan ; but neither of them in 
any way resembles this Faulkland of her son's. 

" Acres : My hair has been in training some ti?ne.^^ 
Here Acres removes his cap, and shows his side-curls in 
papers. After his next speech, he turns his back to the audi- 
ence to show his back-hair elaborately dressed. 

"Acres : Damns have had their day.^^ 

In his History of the English Stage (v. 461), the Rev. Mr. 
Geneste quotes an epigram of Sir John Harrington's, quite 
pertinent here : 

"In elder times, an ancient custom was 
To swear, in weighty matters, by the mass ; 
But when the mass went down, as old men note. 
They sware, then, by the cross of this same groat; 
And when the cross was likewise held in scorn, 
Then by their faith the common oath was sworn ; 
Last having sworn away all faith and troth. 
Only God damn them is their common oath. 
Thus custom kept decorum by gradation. 
That losing mass, cross, faith, they find damnation." 

"Sir Anthony: What^s that to you^ sir?'^ 
The alleged likeness of Sir Anthony to Smollett's Matthew 
Bramble is very slight indeed. Sheridan's treatment of Sir 
[ '28 ] 



Notes 

Anthony in this scene and in the contrasting scene in the 
next aft is exquisite comedy. In these two scenes is to be 
found the finest writing in the play. The present scene may 
be compared with one somewhat similar between Mrs. Lin- 
net and Miss Linnet in the first aft of Foote's Maid of Bath. 

"Sir Anthony : Like the bull in Cox's Museum.^' 
Cox's Museum was a popular and fashionable exhibition of 
natural and mechanical curiosities. There are many allu- 
sions to it in contemporary literature. In Evelina for instance, 
published in 1778, three years after the Rivals was written, 
Miss Burney takes her heroine to Cox's Museum and de- 
scribes some of the many marvels it must have contained. 

Scene II 
"Fag: JVe will — tue will. [Exeunt severally.]" 
The traditional business here is for Fag to parody the exit 
of Sir Lucius just before, calling Lucy, kissing her, saying, 
"I'll quiet your conscience," and then making his exit, 
humming the tune he has just caught from Sir Lucius. 

Ad III 

Scene III 

" Mrs. Malaprop : 0/\ // gives me the hydrostatics to such a de- 
gree. — / thought she had persisted fro?n corresponding with him; 
hut, behold, this very day, I have interceded another letter from 
the fellozv ; I believe I have it in my pocket. ^^ 
As Mrs. Malaprop, Mrs. John Drew used first to take from 
her pocket the letter of Sir Lucius and then, discovering her 
mistake, to produce with much difficulty and in great con- 
fusion the letter which Captain Absolute recognizes at once. 
(See The Autobiography of Joseph Jefferson, pp. 400, 401.) 

" Lydia : O heavens ! Beverley ! " 

Lydia Languish has been called a second edition of Colman's 
[ 129 ] 



The Rivals 

Polly Honeycombe ; but the charge has only the slightest 
foundation. It would have been more difficult to evolve 
Lydia from Polly than to have made her out of nothing. If 
a prototype must be found for Lydia, it had better be sought 
in the Niece in Steele's Tender Husband, In Steele's play, 
the relations of the Aunt and the Niece are not unlike those 
of Mrs. Malaprop and Lydia ; and we are told that the Niece 
"has spent all her solitude in reading romances, her head 
is full of shepherds, knights, flowery meads, groves, and 
streams" (Aft I, Scene I). And she anticipates Lydia in 
thinking that "it looks so ordinary, to go out at a door to be 
married. Indeed I ought to be taken out of a window, and 
run away with" (Aft IV, Scene I). It may be noted, also, 
that the lover of Steele's airy heroine visits her in disguise 
and makes love to her before the face of the Aunt. 

Scene IV 

"Acres [praftising a dancing step] : These outlandish heathen 
allemandes and cotillons are quite beyond me ! — / shall never pros- 
per at '^//?, that's sure — fnine are true-born English legs — 
the'^ don't understand their curst French lingo T 
In his History of the English Stage, Geneste recalls a parallel 
passage in the Wasps of Aristophanes, where the old man, on 
being desired to put on a pair of Lacedemonian boots, en- 
deavours to excuse himself by saying that one of his toes is 
a sworn enemy to the Lacedemonians. 

"Acres : That^s too civil by half.^' 

In the writing of the challenge most aftors of Acres indulge 
in "gags" beyond the bounds of all decency, and until com- 
edy sinks into clowning. Mr. Joseph Jefferson refused to 
make the judicious grieve by saying, "to prevent the con- 
fusion that might arise from our both undressing the same 
lady," and other vulgarities of that sort, retaining, however, 
the subtler jest of Acres's pause and hesitation when he 

[ 130 ] 



Notes 

comes to the word "company," of his significant whisper 
in the ear of Sir Lucius, and of Sir Lucius's prompt solu- 
tion of the orthographical problem, — "With a r, of course! '* 

Ad IV 

Scene II 
"Mrs. Malaprop : Caparisons doTi't become a young woman." 
Here Mrs. Malaprop comes very near to Dogberry's "com- 
parisons are odorous" {Much Ado About Nothings Aft III, 
Scene V). Perhaps the earliest use of the phrase is in The 
Posies of George Gascoigne (1575), where we find, "Since all 
comparisons are odious." 

AcftV 

Scene I 

"Faulkland : Julia, I have proved you to the quick!'''* 
Moore considers that this scene was suggested by Prior's 
ballad of the Nut-brown Maid, and so indeed it may have 
been, although Prior's situation is very different from Sher- 
idan's. In the Nut-brown Maid, the high-born lover con- 
ceals his rank, approaches his mistress in various disguises, 
and at last tests her love by a tale of murder, like Faulk- 
land's. She stands the test like Julia. Then the lover con- 
fesses the trick and reveals his rank, whereat the maid is 
joyful. The point of Sheridan's more dramatic situation is 
in the recoil of Faulkland's distrustful ingenuity on his own 
head, and the rejeftion of his suit by Julia, so soon as he 
declares his fraud. 

"Lydia: How often have I stole forth, in the coldest night 
in January, and found him in the garden, stuck like a dripping 
statue." 

In his notes to his own translation of Horace, Sir Theodore 
Martin drew attention to the likeness of this speech of Ly- 

[ 131 ] 



The Rivals 

dia*s to the lines in the Tenth Ode of the Third Book, in 
which Horace adjures a certain Lyce to take pity on him. 

"You would pity, sweet Lyce, the poor soul that shivers 
Out here at your door in the merciless blast. 

"Only hark how the doorway goes straining and creaking, 
And the piercing wind pipes through the trees that sur- 
round 

The court of your villa, while black frost is streaking 
With ice the crisp snow that lies thick on the ground! 

"Yet be not as cruel ^ — forgive my upbraiding — 
As snakes, nor as hard as the toughest of oak ; 

Think, to stand out here, drenched to the skin, serenading 
All night may in time prove too much of a joke." 

Scene II 
"Absolute : Really^ sir, you have the advantage of meT 
Captain Absolute is the son of a long line of light and lively 
heroes of comedy, and the father of a line almost as long. 
Foremost among his ancestors is the inventive protagonist- 
of Foote's Liar^ and foremost'' among his progeny is the even 
more slippery young man in Boucicault's London Assurance^ 
who ventures to deny his father in much the same fashion 
as Captain Absolute. 

Scene III 
"Acres : By my valour I " 

By a hundred devious ways, Bob Acres traces his descent 
from that other humorous coward. Sir Andrew Aguecheek ; 
and the duels into which both gentlemen enter valiantly 
are not without a certain highly comic resemblance. 

"Sir Lucius : Vm told there is very snug lying in the Abbey T 
This reference is, of course, to the Abbey church, at Bath, 
in which Sarah Fielding, the sister of the novelist, is buried. 



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